Arrival
by Zorakk
Summary: For yarens the Battlestar Galactica has been searching for Earth. Now they have finally found it, in the 24th century.


**Please note both these versions of _Battlestar Galactica_ and _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ take place in an alternate reality seperate from the ones shown on TV. Some cannon facts are ignored or distorted.**

* * *

_There are those who believe that life here began out there, far across  
the universe, with tribes of humans who may have been the forefathers of the  
Egyptians, or the Toltecs, or the Mayans. That they may have been the  
architects of the great pyramids, or the lost civilizations of Lemuria or  
Atlantis.  
Some believe that there may yet be brothers of man who even now fight to  
survive, somewhere beyond the stars.  
_

* * *

**Arrival**  
Compiled from the Computer Logs of the _USS Enterprise_ -- NCC1701-D  
Stardates 6407.23 to 6407.28 and other salient sources  
by Rick Blackburn of the Star Nomad Hawk Clan  
0nboard Deep Space Nine stardate 9607.18 

Summery:  
The survivors of the Colonial Republic finally find Earth --- in the 24th Century

* * *

The four lines of battle weary civilian starships that composed the evacuation fleet were seriously distended and twisted. Two hundred thirty-seven starships of every size and description -- and between them home to the survivors of the Cylon surprise attack on the Colonial Republic five yarens ago. 68,504 souls, over a third of them preadolescent children, all that was left of Kobalian humanity. All in headlong flight from the Cylons, fleeing toward what they hoped would be their stellar cousins, the 13th Tribe of Kobal. Adama had always maintained that the lost 13th Tribe had settled a far off world named _Earth_. Adama had used the legend from the Scarlet Scrolls to keep the civilians from slipping into depression and panic in the early days of their flight from the Cylon Alliance. But over the yarens, even he had begun to loose faith in the possibility of finding Earth -- IF it even existed. 

Adama studied the tactical overlay on the main screen. The fleet would have to stop soon to regroup into a more compact formation so that the two battlestars and five small but fast and heavily armed gunships of Adama's tiny military command could supply even minimal protection from Cylon attack. Now if only Commander Cain of the Battlestar _Pegasus_ would return from his regard sweep, Adama would be able to sleep easier this evening.

"Commander, long range sensors are detecting the return of the _Pegasus_," reported bridge officer Omega. "175 degrees aft, 5 degrees above the fleet axis and 70 centons out."

"Thank the Lords of Kobal," Adama whispered under his breath, and then turned to Omega, "Establish vidacon communication with _Pegasus_ Core Control."

"Commander Cain making contact now, sir."

The craggy features of the other battlestar commander filled the main screen. At once Adama could see all was not well, smoke and erratic electrical arcing from battle damage to the Core Control was evident.

"Hello, old friend," Cain's sly half grin and the embarrassed timbre of his voice together with the state of his control center alerted Adama to prepare for bad news. Adama was thankful for the added protection supplied by _Pegasus_ to the civilian evacuation fleet, but why - _oh why_ in the names of all the odd gods of the galaxy did Cain forever have to go off **looking** for a fight with the Cylons -- instead of taking the job of convoy guard seriously? Adama had tried over and over to explain that the safety of the people **must** come first ... there would be more than enough time to renew the war against the Cylons after they had found Earth and the Thirteenth Tribe.

"I'm afraid I ran into a little trouble back there..."

Adama sighed, "Okay, **what** kind of trouble?"

"Cylons. I've got two basestars on my tail only a few centons behind me and another one not far behind those. Don't worry though, my Viper squadrons have denuded the first two basestars of most of their raiders, Apollo should be able to mop them up easily...and by the time the third catches up, my squadrons will be refueled and rearmed. Damnit Adama we're _going to kill three basestars_ between us!"

"Yes," Adama muttered, "If they don't kill us first!"

"Adama ..."

"I just wish to hell you'd _think_ a little before you do these things!" Adama sighed again. "All right, you've committed us. Assuming we survive this I want to see you aboard the _Galactica_ as soon as possible."

Cain's face betrayed his disappointment as Adama broke the connection.

"Omega, sound battlestations, and alert the gunships. Launch blue and red squadrons, and prepare main batteries for ship to ship engagement."

Wordlessly, bridge officer Omega carried out Commander Adama's orders, alerting the huge Colonial warship for battle.

* * *

Stardate 6407.23, 07:55:07 Galactic Mean Time  
Captain's Log, U. S. S. _Enterprise_ NCC 1701-D  
Triangle Sector 

**Log Entry Begin:**

"The _Enterprise_ has been ordered to begin the field testing a new target tracking sensor array with an advanced QLR Radar which, according to manufacturer's specs, can track up to 1200 bogies out to 76 AUs, even under the most harsh combat conditions. To test this new TTSA, _Enterprise_ has been ordered to the Caladann Nebulae, which is an extremely active murasaki-type nebulae with an especially hot spectral class-W star at its core. This should put the new Target Tracking Array to a maximum test. _Enterprise_ will be the flagship of a three ship Task Force. Accompanying _Enterprise_ are the USS _Canaberra_, an Intrepid-class frigate and the USS _Fafnir_, a Shawnee-class Destroyer Escort.

"Also engaged in this exercise will be the Klingon Vortcha-class cruiser _Wamach-charr_, an old D-7 light cruiser from the Four Years War era, and two K-42 warbird escort vessels. The Klingon Task Force is commanded by Commodore Kevar. Kevar is today an almost unique example of a Human-Klingon fusion in a position of command. His ancestors were specifically bred to oppose the Federation in combat in the days when the Imperial Race which Worf is a representative of chose not to directly engage in combat against alien races. Those days are long gone now, with the fusion races Klingon-Human and Klingon-Romulan in a state of disgrace because of their behavior during the Kinshaya Wars at the turn of the century. Since that war, the Imperial Race had reasserted its dominance in the Klingon Military as well as in the sociopolitical sphere, and hybrids with such authority as Kevar are rare.

"The TTSA sensors have phenomenal resolution. They have allowed us to detect and identify an anomalous cluster of energy readings even through the clutter and grass of the murisaki-type nebulae. Several hours ago, long range sensors detected the unmistakable signature of heavy photon-weapons fire, some five light years from our proposed mock battlefield. Totally across the breadth of the nebulae, someone else is involved in a serious confrontation. Since both the Federation and the Klingons consider this area of space to be strategic, the Klingon Commander, Kevar, and I have decided to investigate this situation, and are proceeding to the center of the subspace disturbance at warp seven."

**END Log Entry**

Starfleet Captain Jean Luc Picard glanced around the bridge, his first shift crew was here, preparing to engage whatever was out there causing all the subspace disturbance. Picard's eyes stopped on the Command Computer station in the left rear quadrant of the bridge, and Lieutenant Commander Geordi LaForge, Chief Engineer. No doubt about it, LaForge had all the earmarks of a future starship Captain, he would one day be the one giving he orders to his own crew. But for now he was in charge of making sure that all of the _Enterprise's_ physical plant -- its engines, power reactors, and life support systems were operating at peak efficiency. It was the newly minted Lt. Commander's job to make sure that if the Captain called for warpspeed, the _Enterprise_ was able to deliver.

Lieutenant Commander Deanna Troi, Picard was sure, was in the midst of doing a light telepathic scan of the crew -- and perhaps even the Klingons, trying to isolate any knots of extreme stress that might cause a catastrophic failure of some system due to human error -- or worse, the mental breakdown of a crew member. Her authority as Ship's Councilor backed up by her Betazoid T+3 MenTalt rating gave her unprecedented ability to diagnose, and even "fix" problems on the human side of the equation. Commander William Ryker, Picard's Executive Officer, was working as diligently and speedily with the Enterprise's Star Pilot, Lt. Sarah McDougal, to make sure that the ship's sublight maneuver systems were in top shape. If _Enterprise_ were forced into combat, McDougal would have the responsibility of making sure _Enterprise_ was not where enemy gunners expected it to be, while holding the ship steady for Lieutenant Worf, Klingon Warrior, and Enterprise's Tactical Action Officer. Worf was busy conducting last minute diagnostics, making certain that if called upon, the _Enterprise's_ weapons would do her crew honor in combat against any enemy. Worf was relieved that as usual, the ordnance crews had maintained the ship's "teeth" in tiptop shape -- he would not have the embarrassing loss of face of having to report to Picard that one or more weapons were off line because of maintenance faults. To loose the use of a weapons system in combat was an inconvenience, but it was expected and was not dishonorable, but to loose them because of laziness or error ... Worf shuttered and allowed himself a moment's relaxation to prepare mentally for the coming conflict in the _Komerex Zha_, the Great Game of Life.

Lieutenant Commander Data, the _Enterprise's_ third in command, glanced over the dozens of readouts and indicators at his station: OPS. instantly taking in, categorizing and digesting the information they represented; he was several dozen times faster at completing this task because he was an electronic intelligence, the product of renegade cybernetisist Noonian Singh. For the first fourteen years of his "life" after having been activated - he had spent his career in Star Fleet as an instructor in cyber-science at Starfleet Academy. _Enterprise_ was his first deep space assignment.

"Captain," Worf said quietly, "We are within visual range of the disturbance."

"On screen, Mr. Worf."

The starfield on the large main viewer shifted and shimmered before focusing on a blob of light crisscrossed with veins of darker matter.

"Neutralize warp, hold this position."

"Aye sir," McDougal acknowledged and at the same time passed the _Enterprise's_ intention to hold this position on to the two accompanying Star Fleet ships and the Klingon vessels a second or two behind them. The Klingons expertly deployed in a single wing formation off the _Enterprise_ port aft.

"Magnify main screen area 254 by 650," Picard instructed the computer, which made the required adjustment and redrew the electronic display on the main screen. There were hundreds of ships of unfamiliar designs on the screen. Of these, it appeared that at least four were warships of some kind and engaged in serious combat. One type looked like two fat saucers connected by a stubby central core, the other was a longer vaguely cylindrical shape with two outrigger nacell-like structures. In the space between the two larger ships were dozens of smaller, incredibly fast craft which were intent upon attacking each other with a viciousness not often seen in stellar combat. Tiny streaks of blue and red marked the exchange of both particle beams and combat lasers between hundreds of smaller "fighters" which swarmed like gnats around the overall battle area.

"Captain," Worf said suddenly, "I'm picking up a broadcast from one of the combatants!"

"Indeed," Picard said interested. "On main screen, Mr. Worf."

The screen filled with the image of a crowded bridge and an older silver maned man in an unfamiliar, but unmistakably military uniform. "This is Commander Adama of the Battlestar _Galactica_ to the unknown alien ships approaching on vector 2765-zero-green. We are convoy guards for the last survivors of a genocide perpetrated upon my people by the merciless Cylon Hoards. Our home worlds, the Colonial Republics, have been at war with the Cylons for a thousand yarens, until a Cylon sneak attack destroyed all twelve of our home worlds simeltaniously. We evacuated as many survivors aboard as many assorted commercial vessels as we could find. Our convoy includes 237 vessels containing 68,504 civilians, including women and children, which will be destroyed by the homicidal Cylon attackers ..."

At this point the screen flickered and a projection of the double saucer vessel was displayed.

"We are receiving technical specifications on two types of warships, and tactical targeting data on one of the unknown starships, sir," Worf reported.

"We plead with you for your intervention to save our children from the Cylons. Appended for your review is the complete history of our war with the Cylons."

On the screen, the pancake shaped fighters dove again and again on the huge colonial starship, blue-white streaks of light marked their weapons fire - and where those beams struck the starship, orange-red gouts of fire erupted, evidence that the weapons had breached the hull of he ship and fires were raging, fueled by the ship's atmospheric oxygen. Faint auroral discharge patterns of mini-lightning played over the dark hide of the starship and it was apparent despite its point defense weapons that the larger ship was in serious trouble.

Worf panned the view of the _Enterprise's_ huge quasi-optical sensors a few degrees and increased the magnification to center on one of the double saucer ships. It too was under savage attack from the sleek dart like fighters of the colonial military. Although neither of the arge ships seem to be equipped with anything resembling the _Enterprise's_ shield technology, they appeared to be ruggedly built vessels to be able to absorb so much punishing hyper-laser fire and still function.

Worf again manipulated the sensor controls to show a wider angle view which encompassed the entire battle area, but which shrank both sides fighters to invisibility and rendered the four capital ships mere toys on a black velvet backdrop. Tiny blossoms of fire in the void marked the successful end of a weapons run by one side or the other. Both of the double saucers had external fires as did one of the other colonial vessels. The combat apparently would soon be over.

The main screen returned to stellar display for a few seconds before being overridden by static and snow.

"What the --?" Picard sat up straighter in his command chair.

"Some kind of primitive EMS jamming signal. Not well encrypted, but very powerful, switching to active QLR sensors," Worf reported. "Another broadcast, sir. I think its the opposition."

"Very well, on screen, Mr. Worf."

Again the screen image shimmered for a moment to be replaced by a view of a sterile room with what appeared to be a single spot light illuminating a raised throan-like chair. The chair swung around to reveal a silver armored individual with a single red sensor moving from side to side. "_Death to all humans_!" the obviously mechanical voice snarled. "_Death to all humans! By order of Imperious Leader, all humans must be exterminated. Death to all humans_." An electronic one kilohertz drone squealed out of the communications receiver at an uncomfortable volume.

"Close out the channel, Mr. Worf," Ryker shouted in disgust and the screen returned to stellar display.

Picard turned to Troi. "What are your feelings on this, Deanna? Can you read anything at all?"

Troi had a distracted, bemused look on her face, as she always did when she was busy using her MenTalt abilities to divine a situation. "There are several things I can tell you right off, Captain. Number one is that Commander ... Adama? was it? is being totally truthful. He believes in the core of his being that these Cylons will slaughter the civilians. Two, there are indeed thousands of humans packed into those ships, and three, either the Cylons are of a type mind I've never encountered, or they are robots, sophisticated perhaps, but robots none the less."

"Do you mean they are 'electronic intelligence' as I am, Councilor?" asked Data.

"No, Data ... well, I don't know really," Troi said a bit flustered. "With you I can read an 'essence' ... a mind, or a soul or something that makes you sentient. I don't get that from these Cylons. My guess is they are closer relatives to the Enterprise's computer than to you, Data."

"Our problem still remains," Picard said. "We've been asked for assistance. We have to decide if the Prime Directive will allow us to give it."

"Commodore Kevar making contact, sir," Worf said.

Picard waved at the main screen and Worf immediately transferred the incoming signal.

"Picard!" The Klingon Commodore that Picard had learned to respect over the past three days of mock combat was standing in an attitude of challenge, he was wearing, Picard saw, not the work-a-day fatigue Imperial Armada uniform, but his full dress uniform, complete with its spiked shoulder pad armor. "What are your intentions?"

"Obviously we cannot allow this to continue..."

"Agreed!" Kevar nodded in total agreement.

"...Perhaps a temporary truce until we can sort out what is going on."

"BHA! Picard, you are a wise man, and a diplomat; BUT these are already engaged in the Khah-phakoon -- the "blood lust of battle" -- neither side will yield to diplomacy now. I do not mean to be offensive, Picard, but you are a diplomat -- skilled at the arts of Cha-darcht -- the speak-war. You should let your second, Ryker, or Worf command in times of Khah-phakoon..."

"Unfortunately the Federation's Prime Directive ..."

"Has no relevance for me!" Kevar cut Picard off. "You sit by and observe; I will demonstrate the way of the warrior -- yes?" Kevar cut the connection.

"Captain, the _Wamach-charr_ has raised shields and is powering her main weapons, full power levels. The K-42 escorts are doing the same," Worf reported. "Captain Ben-durr of the _Fafnir_ and Captain Farnsworth of the _Canaberra_ are asking for instruction."

Picard, face red with surpressed anger, said through tightly pressed lips, "Reestablish contact with Commodore Kevar."

"Sir! The Commodore is broadcasting an ultimatum to the aliens.." Worf said.

"WHAT?" Picard roared. "On screen, NOW!"

"... Commodore Kevar zantai-Lobaleth - commander of His Imperial Majesty Kahless's Bloody Claw frontier squadron. These stars are ours! You will at once cease all hostilities! Take all weapons off line and prepare to be boarded by soldiers of the Empire. If you refuse to stand down we _WILL_ destroy you. We have you under our guns. You have sixty seconds to comply!"

"Damn!" Picard muttered, "Mr. Worf, raise shields; Mr. Ryker, bring the _Enterprise_ to battle stations. Helm, ahead impulse factor six, prepare for evasive maneuvers. Signal our escorts that we are going to battlestations."

"Captain, Commodore Kevar for you," Worf announced into the general confussion. The main screen flickered and the craggy visage of the Klingon flag officer appeared.

"Ahh, Picard. Now we will see and end to this."

Picard tried hard to repress the anger he felt at being treated as a playing piece in the Klingon's game of _Komerex Zha_. "Kevar..."

"Do not worry, Picard, my warriors will only attack if THEY are attacked."

"Yes, but you've practically guaranteed that is a fact now."

"Ahhh, yes. So it is," Kevar purred.

* * *

"...sixty seconds to comply!" 

Commander Adama stood on the raised quarter deck of his battlestar's Core Command section and gapped at the screen. "Omega, are we certain of the translation matrix?"

"Yes sir, and it was a wide-band FM broadcast, it was monitored on all the ships of the fleet. The Inter-Fleet comm channels are filling up fast with confused questions as to what they should do...and Commander Cain is on the command channel."

"I'd better talk to Cain first. What is our current status?"

"The solium fires in landing bay Beta are under control, but we've suffered major damage to the main dorsal structural strut. It'll probably mean almost a yarhen in close planet orbit to repair."

Adama groaned. "Anything else?"

"Since Beta bay will be off line for a centaur at least, Red Squadron will have to land on the _Pegasus_..."

"Better let me talk to Cain now."

The vidacon screen flickered and the starfield was replaced with the larger than life electronic representation of Commander Cain.

"Adama! What were you thinking? Now the Aliens may well attack us..."

"I suppose that after five yarhens of flight along the course the Seraphs gave us that we had finally encountered representatives of the Thirteenth Tribe from Earth..."

Cain made a rude noise.

"I'm going to ask you for a big favor, my old friend, not as your commanding officer, but as your friend. Do not target the alien vessels unless they directly fire on you. The last thing we need is more enemies; and I still have this feeling that we are close to our objective, closer than we've ever been before."

Cain paused and looked directly into the vidacon pickup. "All right, Adama. You _HAVE_ been right many more times than wrong when it comes to this fascination of yours with the old tales of Earth and the Thirteenth Tribe. I only hope you are right _THIS_ time!"

* * *

A spread of guided missiles fired from one of the Basestars closed the distance in seconds between the alien vessel and the four Klingon warships headed toward them. The missiles detonated against the shields of the starboard K-42 corvette. Seconds later the Klingon ships wheeled smoothly and began their attack runs, using their impulse engines to accelerate toward the enemy vessels; switching on their cloaks and virtually disappearing from sight. Both basestars also began belching out more of the pancake-raiders which quickly fanned out into a five and six deep skirmish line between the base ships and the _Enterprise_ and the three Klingon ships. In a perfectly timed maneuver, the Klingons switched on their warp generators for a few milliseconds and swept past the skirmish line and the basestar and continued toward the main battle area. 

Baltar, one-time member of the Council of Twelve, and now head executioner for the Cylon Imperious Leader sprawled in his command chair on its raised dais. The spot light that he used to intimidate his opponents by causing his face to be hidden in deep shadows was switched off and the chamber was lit only by the subdued illumination of the telescreen which was his one link to the outside world.

On the screen was the real problem, the aliens who had appeared out of nothingness to spoil yet another well laid trap for Adama and that thrice-damned gaggle of old rust buckets and worn-out orbital trucks that Adama kept referring to as a 'fleet'. Baltar ground his teeth in flustration as he thought of Adama wiggling out of yet another perfectly executed trap.

Lucifer had brought him the results of the Cylon's sensor scans of the aliens. The data was inconclusive, but it was also alarming. There were seven ships, one was nearly as large as either a basestar or battlestar, and its neutrino signature told of a power plant much more potent than anything Baltar had ever heard of -- aside from a planetary power grid. The uncomfortable conclusion was the aliens used matter/anti-matter reactions as a power supply, a technology beyond either the Cylons or their Colonial enemies. Three of the remaining vessels were under three hundred cubits in length and probably massed a tenth of what the large ship did, yet they too had the same unmistakable hyperpower emission signature. There were no detectable tachyon emissions, so their stardrive was a mystery. Their weapons were potent, but thankfully not enough so that a single shot could kill a basestar. They were smooth hulled and appeared to possess some kind of elecctro-gravitic shield that was mpervious to the particle weapons on the raiders sent against it. Much as he hated to admit it, Adama and the 'fleet' would have to wait. These aliens _must_ be destroyed, and news of them brought back to Imperious Leader at once.

The main hatchway to his command chamber slid open noiselessly and Lucifer, his IL-series executive officer, came in. The Cylon paused for a moment, executed a stiff bow and said in an ironic tone: "By your command, Baltar."

"Speak."

"Our missiles were ineffective against the aliens. They have passed by with hardly a notice of our fighters. Our fighters are continuing on to the largest of the alien ships."

"Was there any indication that they penetrated our ambush-cloak?"

"No, Baltar, they continued on toward the _Galactica_ and the two basestars attacking it."

"Then perhaps we can find out if they are also shielded from a sneak attack in the rear quadrant. Give orders to have our basestar pursue them. Fire a maximum charge from our ion cannon when we are within range."

"By _your_ command, Baltar..."

* * *

Onboard USS _Fafnir_, the battlestations klaxon shrieked. "Battle stations! All hands man your battle stations. This is no drill. Set Condition One throughout the ship. F-33 pilots: man your planes." 

Sr. Lieutenant Kathy Komenous, the _Fafnir's_ flight leader had been sitting in the cockpit of her F-33 with the NEID idling at half a percent total load. She looked over her shoulder to make sure the other three pilots of her tiny command were climbing into their fighters, and then returned her attention to her own F-33. Chief Sanders, her crew chief was busy overseeing the crew maneuvering Komenous's snub-fighter into one of the _Fafnir's_ high velocity launch tubes. He turned to the cockpit as the crystal canopy slid shut and held up his thumb.

"All clear forward and up, Lieutenant," Chief Sanders' voice whispered in Leah's earpiece. "Clear for launch."

Lt. Komenous held up her thumb in the ages old pilot's acknowledgment as the reinforced crystal and transparent ceramic of the cockpit's canopy slid smoothly into its locking ring and sealed. Instantly, the cacophony of the hangar deck was totally gone to be replaced by the nearly subliminal rumble of the NEIDs as she revved them up toward launch velocity, and the subtle mumbling and bweeping of the F-33's computers. A quick scan of her instruments confirmed the launch authorization from the bridge. She adjusted the flight helmet's boom mic and said: "Flight Leader to Amarillo flight, report status."

"Amarillo one. Ready to launch."

"Amarillo two. Lets kick ass, el-tee."

"Amarillo three. And take a few names."

"Awrite, you clowns, lets be careful out there, I don't want to have to break-in a new set of maggots. LAUNCH!"

Simultaneously the four F-33 fighters slid out of their launch tubes into the void of interstellar space and ignited their ion drives accelerating away from _Fafnir_ and toward the designated battle area at thirty gravities.

* * *

"Starbuck! Below you, coming up at your zed-green quadrant!" Apollo virtually shouted into the helmet's microphone. 

Off to Starbuck's starboard, much too close for comfort, a Cylon TACNUC warhead detonated.

"I see 'em. Watch this." Starbuck stomped down on the right foot peddle, shoved the cyclic over and down hard and kicked in the combat thrusters; in an instant he released the foot control and pulled back sharply on the cyclic. The Viper's flight computer relayed the orders to the small interceptor's thrust vectorals and throttle - the result was Starbuck's Viper swung around in an impossibly tight arc and was on the tail of the Cylon who had nearly acquired target lock on him. Within seconds Starbuck's own targeting sensor reported a valid target solution for both lasers and missile weapons.

"That's it, baby, just a little closer ..." Starbuck purred as he gradually refined the target lock. He was just about to fire when two streams of laser pulses flashed over him. "Whaaa--?" Starbuck broke off his attack and swerved hard starboard and down fifty degrees. He kicked his combat thrusters to clear the area quickly. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew what had happened.

Starbuck mashed down on the trigger-stud on the cyclic and automatically closed her eyes, so as not to be blinded by the flashes of the port and starboard turbolasers as they squirted out 250,000 megajoule laser pulses at the Cylon. The laser streams both impacted on the upper rear deck of the Cylon, just behind the cockpit and in the midsts of the Tylium/vacuum intermix array. The raider's most vulnerable spot. The Cylon split apart like an overripe melon, spilling its innards into the void of interstellar space with a satisfying but totally silent Tylium explosion.

"Leah!" Lee Starbuck growled. "WHAT are YOU doing here?" Lee Starbuck glanced out his portside and saw his twin sister's Viper swing up along side his. He could see that irritating grin even through her helmet faceplate, that smile of smug satisfaction she always got whenever she was able to best him at something. _Unfortunatly_, Lee thought, _she gets to use it far too often!_

"Well, I'll say this," Apollo's voice chuckled in Leah Starbuck's headset. "You DO have style. You never do anything half way."

"Can't afford to," Leah quipped. "Only got one turn of the wheel."

"Howsabout we try to pick off the stragglers heading toward the alien. I'd like to see how their fighters perform against the Cylons."

"Good," Leah said. "I was just thinking the same thing. That one ship is as big as _Galactica_, they probably have a squadron or two of fighters out kicking Cylon ass!"

"Uuhhh, don't you think we'd be asking to get shot at too?" Lee asked.

"I don't think so ..." Apollo said. "We'll just hang back at the edges, picking off a Cylon or two and watch ... what'daja say, bro?"

"I dunno. I've got a bad feeling about this..."

"Bawk! bbaaawwwkk!" Leah imitated a chicken as she ignited her combat thrusters for a spurt of acceleration.

"Oh shutup," Lee grumbled and followed the other two vipers burning toward the alien.

* * *

On board _Enterprise_, Worf's eyes scanned the TTSA output screen. "Captain, the TTSA has acquired twenty-eight targets currently in range of the phasers, all of them the small attack craft type." 

"Stand by, Mr. Worf, we may still be able to settle this peacefully," Picard said standing up and straighten his uniform tunic. "Open Channel -- This is Captain Jean Luc Picard of the Federation Starship _Enterprise_..."

"The aliens ..." Worf began, but before he could finish twenty-eight Cylon charged particle beams impacted on the forward, bottom, and port side shields of the _Enterprise_. "...are firing, sir. Minimal damage to shields."

"Well, so much for a diplomatic solution," Picard mumbled. "Return fire, Mr. Worf. Make an attempt to target their propulsion systems."

"Aye, sir," the Klingon said, a large smile spreading across his face as he turned to the tactical control station.

From several points on the forward phaser ring-emitters, beams of phased energy leapt out at the attacking Cylon raiders. Each time a beam came into contact with a raider, the small attack craft dissolved instantly into a fog of subatomic particles. In seconds, the volume of space directly around the _Enterprise_ was clear of Cylon vessels.

"Mr. Data, have you finished crunching the numbers on that Cylon beam weapon?" Picard asked.

Data had slaved all of the Enterprise's sensors, except those target acquisition ones Worf was using to his OPS station. "Yes, Captain. It appears that the Cylon weapon is a charged particle beam consisting of antiprotons with an average field energy of 37,500 trillion electron volts. Its pulse width is 100 microseconds and it appears to have a maximum range of 60,000 kilometers before divergence causes the beam to loose cohesion. According to the technical readouts the Colonial Military sent over, the weapon also apparently has a minimum range of 1,000 Kilometers. It is unable to attack anything within this radius because of feedback developed between the weapon and the charged target in the few seconds it takes to vaporize the target. Apparently ..."

"Thank you Mr. Data," Picard said cutting off the Second Officer, knowing full well that Data could and _would_ proceed to teach an honors class in particle beam weapon technology if allowed to.

* * *

"_**FELL ... DER ... CARB**_!" Lieutenant Leah Starbuck of the Battlestar _Galactica's_ Red Squadron had seen a lot of alien weapons systems in her eighteen yarhens with the Colonial Military ... but nothing that could compare to what she had just seen the alien ship do. 

"Starbuck," Apollo's voice was hushed in awe. "Did we really see that ship destroy twenty or more Cylon raiders in a blink of a eye?"

"Either that," Lee said in a hushed whisper, "or we'd all three better report to Dr. Salik when we get back as unfit for duty, due to hyperspace psychosis."

* * *

Several light seconds away, a basestar engaged the D-7 cruiser, _Inquisitor_ and the K-42 corvettes, while IKS _Whamact-charr_ stood off and pounded the enemy with torpedo fire. The Klingons were quickly learning that these basestars were not so easy to disable or destroy. Because they had no shields like the Klingon vessels, they were build more sturdily, with thick layers of tough armor plating over everything. Although the torpedoes did damage to the basestar, it is not the kind of results Kevar wanted. 

Meanwhile the K-42's were attacking in the standard Dartch-MAH! maneuver which virtually always works for smaller Imperial Klingon vessels attacking a larger advisory. With their cloaks engaged, the K-42's make a high sub-light speed run on the target, finally disengaging their cloaks at the last minute, firing their disrupter cannons and then veering off and returning to cloaked status. Unfortunately this was similar enough to the Cylon's own pinwheel attack that the basestar's command centurion recognized it and was able to catch one of the K-42's with his point defense turbolasers. The damaged IKS _Krolk_ limped off under cloak to heal its wounds.

The _Pegasus_ was also lining up to take a shot at the basestar with the battlestar's main ship to ship weapon a CPAW ion cannon. Too late, the basestar detected _Pegasus_ and was able to score one glancing hit on the battlestar's engines. Cain had used the Klingon as a distraction, and now _Pegasus_ fired and scored a direct hit on the basestar. For agonizing seconds, it appears that nothing had happened to the basestar -- that it has absorbed the megapunch from _Pegasus_ and survived. Then, slowly at first, the first few plumes of flame appeared, speedily degenerating into a multilobed explosion of blue-yellow and orange flame which split the upper saucer in half and totally destroying the lower saucer. There was jubilation from the IKS _Krolk_. There is nothing the Klingon heart likes better than a good clean kill of an opponent. Cain, although he does not yet know it, has won a lot of admiration among the crews of the _Truncheon_, _Krolk_ and _Inquisitor_.

On board the _Truncheon_, a junior comm officer got carried away in the lust of victory and forgot discipline and regulations in the revels. He sent a victory message to _Pegasus_.

"Commander Klath!" Commodore Kevar angrily spat the name of the Captain of the K-42 Corvette IKS _Truncheon_, "No unauthorized communications with the alien!" The Battlestar _Pegasus_ filled his screen, surrounded by various statistics and labels as the Commodore studied the alien warship.

"Sir!" came a female contralto over the speaker, "The responsible one has already been relieved, sir!"

"YOU are the one responsible, Commander!"

"Sir!"

Kevar cut contact without waiting for the "Victory to the Komerex" that Klath surely uttered. Klath was a competent command officer, but she was much too young and inexperienced. Kevar was determined to rid her of all of her inexperience as quickly as he could, this live-fire contest against the alien invaders would be perfect for the tactical lessons that Kevar hoped to impart to her. One of those was never try to communicate during combat. Words could not harm shields and might give your opponent some advantage. Kevar had an ongoing disagreement with Thought Admiral Khempek over what level of freethinking was necessary at what level of command. In Kevar's opinion, Klath and her generation were too impulsive and uncontrolled to be of their best use to the Komerex. This disagreement remained amicable -- however, Kevar suspected that it might have had something to do with keeping him from becoming an admiral all these years. As an admiral, Kevar could well be considered too powerful and dangerous to have the free and easy access to Khempek's ear that he currently enjoyed. Kevar was, after all, an experiment, and a successful one, who had long protected the Komerex.

"Sir!" the officer at the sensor station shouted, just as Kevar was beginning to relax into the rhythm of stellar combat.

"Incoming sensor contact, to aft!"

"On main screen!" Kevar ordered, immediately alert, "Identify!"

"Working!" the officer watched the data displays, and then sat bolt upright, "Sir! It's one of the saucer aliens. Somehow they have managed to slip behind us!"

"**WHAT?**" the commodore reacted immediately, "They must have cloaking technology! Karnath! Bring us around, course 345 mark 000. Arm forward disrupters, set for minimum divergence!" He slapped the com switch, and repeated the orders to all the ships in the squadron. Looking up, he found that his tactics and weapons officer hadn't moved - he was mesmerized by the image of the swiftly closing double saucer ship.

"Karnath! Now!"

Lt. Karnath shook himself, and began running though the sequences on his panel, "Yes, sir!"

A plasma torpedo erupted from _Inquisitor's_ single forward launch tube and caught the basestar amidships. And still the alien juggernaut continued to eat up the space between it and the Klingon squadron. The basestar fired its CPAWS at the D-7 light cruiser which was directly in its path. The _Inquisitor's_ shields glowed bright violet, seemed to expand and suddenly disappear all together. A millisecond later another antiproton beam swept across the now unshielded _Inquisitor_. It dissolved into a bright ball of radiation which quickly expanded and was gone. The shock of the _Inquisitor's_ loss was felt by all of the _Whamact-charr's_ crew, but they betrayed none of the emotion surging within their beings, just below the facade of the disciplined Soldier of the Empire. The _Krolk_, having repaired the worst of its combat damage, rejoined the squadron.

"_d'k Tahg_ pattern, now!" The three remaining ships of the Klingon squadron each leapt in a different direction, as if flanking the incoming ship, with the _Whamact-charr_ falling back a little. This unusual tactic had worked, barely, against the Federation in the days of the Klingon Empire's expansionist era, when in most cases the Klingon Commander found himself seriously outnumbered by his Federation opponents. Scattering the squadron allowed for more maneuverability on the part of each individual ship, and made it less likely that collisions might occur in the fog of war.

"Yes, let's spread out, and let them pick us off one by one," Kevar mused darkly, "otherwise, they will surely pick us off all at once." These alien opponents -- Cylons --were adaptable; once they experienced a weapon, or tactic, they quickly created a defense.

"Sir!" comm reported, "The aliens are jamming all communications! We have lost contact with _Truncheon_."

Commander Kudomi of the IKS _Krolk_ sounded battle stations on detecting the jamming signal, _Krolk_ accelerated to emergency sub-light velocity, her chief engineer carefully fiddling with controls to get a fraction more power to the impulse emitters without blowing out the dilithium crystal converters. Up in weapons control, crews tried for a lockon and prepared the new extended-range terminal-homing plasma torpedoes for a battle test.

The extended-range plasma torpedoes worked perfectly this time, all homing on the targeted alien ship, rather than each other. Coincidentally, they arrived at the same time as the disrupter barrage from _Wahmact-charr_, backed up immediately by a rotation of phaser fire from the _Enterprise_ at extreme range, a full three light seconds away. The effect to the basestar was less than optimal. Visually stunning firey explosions came from the basestar, but still the Cylon continued its acceleration toward _Wamach-charr_.

Still the _Wamach-charr_ and its two surviving K-42 warbird escort corvettes, the IKS _Krolk_ and IKS _Truncheon_ continued to accelerate toward the Cylon baseship, firing their weapons as they came. Suddenly the Cylon baseship belched out a cloud of debris and debris at high sub-light velocity directly in the path of _Krolk_.

"_Gah-CHAR_!" Kudomi, the starboard wingship commander swore in surprise as the cloud of ionized gases and dust suddenly appeared in his line of flight.

"Helmsman! Hard to starboard! Course 075 mark 25. Engineer! Reduce thrust to one-half impulse. Tactical Officer! INCREASE deflector density to maximum!" The bridge crew of the IKS _Krolk_ responded soundlessly to their Commander's orders. No acknowledgments were necessary, the Commander knew his orders would be carried out without hesitation or question. It was the way of the Empire. _Krolk_ rode up and over the majority of the strange cloud of debris that had come into being out of Cylon baseship at a sizable fraction of the speed of light.

Commodore Kevar's rugged visage appeared on the main screen. "Report, Kudomi! Your status?"

"Combat ready, Commodore, no damage."

"Good, then continue attack vector Cha-defja. Victory for the Empire!"

"For the Empire," Kudomi raised his clenched fist in salute. The screen returned to its tactical function. On it, their target, the Cylon megaship glowed in enhanced video resolution, enlarged 25,000 times from the pinprick smear of light it would have been to the naked eye at this range.

"Tactical Officer," Commander Kudomi said in a low and dangerous voice. "Bring disrupters on line, maximum intensity, zero beam divergence." A softly glowing gun-sight appeared on the screen. Kudomi used the dual joysticks built into the arms of his command chair to line up the sight on the Cylon vessel.

"Engineer! Full Impulse! _VICTORY FOR THE EMPIRE_!"

_"VICTORY_!" the crew echoed.

Commodore Kevar once again felt the strange emotion that came whenever he was, surprisingly, going to live for a while longer. A wave of dizziness swept over him and he saw the bridge go grayish. "Am I getting old?" he thought. "That never happened before." He locked his knees, not wanting to show any weakness, and strode quickly to his quarter-deck and sat heavily in the command chair. Kevar watched the small tactical screen repeater on the armrest of his command chair as his warriors performed a perfectly coordinated attack. A flash appeared on the Cylon baseship, another and still another.

"Incoming message from the Federation Commander," the com officer said.

The main screen filled with the image of the Federation bridge; Picard was standing beside his OPS officer's station.

"Commodore Kevar, our analysis of the Cylon CPAWS beam shows it to be antiprotons in composition, you should adjust your shields as much as possible. Also it appears that the weapon has a minimum range of 1,000 kilometers and cannot be brought to bear on a target within that radius."

"My thanks, Picard. 1,000 kilometers ... about 500 kellikams, that's cutting it pretty close to the enemy, but the Red Claw Squadron can handle it. Thank you. Kevar out." Picard's image nodded at him before the screen returned to tactical display. "Relay that data to the _Krolk_ and the _Truncheon_."

His head was beginnings to clear now, the dizziness was fading.

"Helmsman, take us within the 500 kellikam limit. Weapons officer, fire on targets of opportunity."

"Commodore, the Cylon is launching more of those tiny interceptors."

"Pah, they cannot penetrate our shields, ignore them!" Kevar again took to stalking back and forth behind the helm and tactical officer's station.

"The commander of the Alien ... 'battlestar' ... is hailing us, Commodore."

"On screen," Kevar said, ignoring his own tactical policy of silence. "Such are the vagaries of the _Komerex Zha_," the Commodore muttered.

The screen shifted to communication mode and a very, very crowded control center, manned by at least a dozen technicians and officers appeared on the screen. The human looking out at him might well have been an earther for all Kevar could tell by looking at him. A small part of Kevar's mind wondered why it was that there were so many races spread all across the galaxy that resembled the earthers.

"Commodore ... er ... Kevar is it? I am Commander Cain of the Battlestar _Pegasus_."

"Yes, we saw your victory over the other alien vessel. Good shooting!"

"Yes, we did not have a chance to say more than VICTORY at the time. Now however, I can do you a service. My Vipers will mop up the Cylon attack craft currently attempting to penetrate your shields, we should work together ..."

"Ah, yes. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend_. An old earth proverb." Kevar grinned.

"I'm glad we understand each other," Commander Cain said, a wolfish smile touching his eyes only. "Cain out."

* * *

From seemingly out of nowhere, USS _Canaberra_ and USS _Fafnir_ joined the assault on the basestar from above and to aft of the besieged Klingon squadron. Phaser beams from both ships played across the Cylon's armored hide, causing numerous minor explosions and tossing blasted armor debris into space. USS _Canaberra_ fired a spread of four photon torpedoes which impacted on the lower saucer section, blasting a gaping hole in the structure of the baseship, but with apparently no discernible effect. The baseship's CPAWS cannon fired, the antiproton beam impacted on _Fafnir'_ starboard nacelle. The _Fafnir's_ nacelle erupted in a sun-bright flash as its starboard warp engine destroyed itself emitting a spray of gamma rays and subatomic particles. _Fafnir's_ main hull began to spin end over end as the crippled starship's crew fought to contain the battle damage and regain maneuvering control. _Fafnir_ pinwheeled past the basestar and continued on a wobbling trajectory out of the battle area. _Canaberra_ fired the last of its photon torpedoes at point blank range and began to chase after _Fafnir_.

* * *

Onboard his basestar, which was under attack by numerous alien ships, Baltar, Imperious Leader's Lord High Executioner cowered on his command throne. The intraship vidacon monitors shows chaos and blast damage throughout the volume of the basestar. Fires raged out of control in the lower saucer and were burning perilously close to the tylium storage facility. If the fire reached that ... 

Baltar did not wish to think of that. A deafening "_WHOONG_!" echoed through the control center. Another impact and explosion rocked the basestar. Alarms sounded throughout the three cubic cubits of the upper saucer as one by one the basestar's damage control units wereoverwhelmed and went off line. Electrical arcing and a shower of sparks from control consoles briefly illuminated Baltar's redoubt, but then the basestar's core control area went completely dark. Baltar no longer had command and control functions. From somewhere outside the basestar's control room, and much too close, the wail of emergency alarms sounded. The blast door from the central corridor slid open and Lucifer came into the command center.

"By your leave, Baltar," the IL-series Cylon intoned. "The aliens have inflicted fatal damage to the basestar. It is time to give the abandon ship command."

"Is my personal fighter prepared?" Baltar asked.

"Yes, eminence."

"Then give the appropriate orders. The humans have won this round."

"By YOUR Command, Baltar," Lucifer said and Baltar was sure that he detected a note of pleased sarcasm in the IL-Cylon's electronic voice.

* * *

The spread of four photon torpedoes raced across the 70,000 kilometers separating the _Enterprise_ from the Cylon Basestar and impacted on the unshielded hull of the enemy vessel. Instead of complete disintegration of the target -- as would have been the case of an unshielded vessel hit by photon torpedoes in Worf's past experience, all the antimatter charges did was blast off chunks of the base star and cause some ancillary explosions and fires deep within the body of the basestar. 

"Direct hit on the lower saucer of the basestar," Worf reported. "_MINIMAL_ damage, recommend we return to phaser attack, Captain."

Captain Picard leaned forward in his command chair and studied the telescopic view of the third Cylon Basestar. It was wounded, but my no means out of the fight. "Yes, Mr. Worf, I concur. Return to phaser bombardment." The Basestar had moved off somewhat, but it could not outrun the phaser beams that chased it down.

Picard watched the main screen as a half dozen more of the pancake shaped Cylon raiders dived in on the main hull of the _Enterprise_, firing their turbo-laser cannons. The laser energy splashed across the _Enterprise's_ shields with virtually zero effect as the shield greedily soaked up the photons of coherent light and transferred the energy to _Enterprise's_ main power grid. One of the attacking Cylons either misjudged its trajectory or engaged in a suicide run against the ship's outer defense shields, crashing headlong into the top shield and dissolving into a hell flower of flame and metallic debris. Two others veered off but were immediately detected and eliminated by two Colonial Viper interceptors which had been lurking around the _Enterprise's_ shields and happened upon the two Cylon fugitives. The surviving raiders turned and fled for the suspossed safety of their basestar.

* * *

On board the Imperial Klingon Ship _Krolk_ it's commander, Kudomi, studied the receding image of the basestar as _Krolk_ rolled away from its last target attack run. _Fekk-lar's beard!_ the warrior swore under his breath, _These alien pah'TOKs are tougher to kill than a Kardasian voll_. The basestar was obviously mortally wounded, it's lower saucer was now only twisted wreckage. Fires raged consuming the giant ship's meager supply of oxygen. Black and gray smoke shrouded the optical view of the basestar, but not the sensors. There had to be a way to finish off this wounded targ of an enemy, if only Kudomi could find it. 

"Helmsman, bring us about, reset for another target run," Kudomi ordered. "Weapons officer, bring all torpedo tubes to combat ready, charge disrupters to maximum power, set beam divergence to zero." _Krolk's_ crew efficiently carried out their commander's orders. Kudomi intended to make a high speed attack run, focusing all his forward weapons on the juncture between the central column, where Colonial intelligence reported that the main power reactors were located. They would fire at minimal range and get out fast, firing their rear torpedo as they left. The maneuver would exhaust _Krolk's_ supply of plasma torpedoes, but if it worked there would be glory and honor for all.

"All torpedo tubes loaded and armed," the weapons officer reported. "Disrupters set for maximum discharge, emitters are hot and ready." "_Ree'CHARga_!" Kudomi snarled in battlespeak. "_ATTACK_!"

_Krolk's_ navigational sensors locked on to the basestar, and the K-42's impulse exhaust ports glowed hot blue-white as the Klingon corvette's ion drives began to accelerate the warship toward its target, 20,000 kellikams away.

Kudomi watched the view screen as the cloud of smoke, dust and debris that marked the location of the wounded basestar grew ever closer. "Tactical," he growled and the forward view screen became a large target designator. Kudomi centered all three of the forward torpedoes' target designators on the spot he wanted to hit, then also placed the disrupter target designator over them. He targeted the rear torpedo dead center of one of the basestar's flight bays.

"Accelerate to point eight, stand by warp drive."

The _Krolk_ swooped in to within 300 kellikams of the target. At the moment of exact closest pass, Kudomi gave the order to fire.

"Fire rear torpedo, warp drive to maximum, engage cloak." _Krolk_ sped away from the basestar at super luminal velocity. Behind, the torpedoes impacted on a weakened section of the central core's fuselage. The first torpedo arrived a few milliseconds before the other two, and vaporized the remainder of the local armored hull. The two behind it flew through the cloud of subatomic particles and impacted on the main power transfer relays to the upper saucer and exploded, generating a large feedback pulse which traveled both ways along the power conduits, upward into the saucer and downward to the basestar's main reactor. For a few milliseconds, the reactor's safety equipment fought the feedback charge, but was ultimately unsuccessful in shielding the reaction core, which promptly imploded, creating a miniature supernova in the basestar's fusion reactor. The remaining wreckage of the basestar devolved into a flash of quarks and high energy photons.

* * *

Serina, Captain of the _Pegasus_ Silver-spar Squadron, pulled her viper up and over into a twisted yo-yo maneuver which put her directly astern of the Cylon raider that seconds ago had been firing on her. This battle was one of the most intense she had ever fought in since the olden days when her father, Commander Cain had led his battlestar's crew deep into the soft underbelly of the Cylon Alliance. There they had routinely faced Cylon task forces of two and three basestars and hundreds of fighters, but none of those battles had been as fierce nor as long as this one. Serena had been in the cockpit for eleven sentars, only pausing to land on Pegasus for brief interludes to refuel and rearm. Silver-spar Squadron had lost a lot of good warriors today, including her executive officer, Lt. Hipparcus. 

"This is for Huey, you metal bastards!" Serina growled and launched her last two serpent-asp missiles at the Cylon. The missiles raced across the space separating Serina from her prey and struck the raider at the most vulnerable places, just as they were programmed to do. Serina jerked the cyclic around and pulled her viper into a long sweeping arc calculated to take her out of the battle area and back to the _Pegasus_ for another reload of serpent-asp missiles.

* * *

Stardate 6407.23, 18:31:43 Galactic Mean Time  
Captain's Log, U. S. S. _Enterprise_ NCC-1701D  
Triangle Sector 

**Log Entry Begin**

"The _Enterprise_ has been engaged in battle for nearly ten hours now, employing tactics that I'm certain the training staff at the Terran War College would never approve of, but it appears we are winning. Winning covers a multitude of tactical sins. It's been a long and bloody battle. The new TTSA has certainly shown its worth this day. With virtually hundreds of potential targets in the battle area, simply sorting out the friendly from attackers would have been a formidable job. The TTSA has indeed lived up to its hype in that respect, carefully tracking and presenting an unambiguous multicolor display to Worf at his Tactics station. On the sensor's display screen, against the softly glowing silver grid of the spatial scale overlay are the red of hostiles, green of friendlies and golden-yellow of unknowns. This may make the dream of armchair admirals everywhere, a true _point and click_ targeting system, a reality.

"Kevar's Vortcha squadron has borne the brunt of the Cylon's attack so far. First, early on in the attack, the Cylons destroyed the D-7 light cruiser and then about noon GMT, by sheer volume of firepower the two remaining Cylon Basestars had managed to collapse the _Wamach-charr_ forward and portside shields. The next blasts from the alien's charged particle weapon left the _Wamach-charr_ without impulse or warp drive, and virtually dead in space, its hull ruptured from several internal explosions. Somehow the _Wamach-charr's_ engineering crew managed to avert a warp core breech and so the _Wamach-charr_ will one day be salvaged by the Klingon Armada. IKS _Krolk_ finally managed to destroy the wounded basestar. Kevar has transferred his flag to the IKS _Truncheon_ and is still filling the QLR comm bands with Klingon, Romulan and Interlingo invectives and engaging the remaining basestar at point blank range.

"USS _Fafnir_ lost warp maneuvering ability when its starboard warp nacelle was destroyed by a CPAWS beam. Causalities were thankfully very low. USS _Canaberra_ used its tractor beams to stabilize the _Fafnir's_ trajectory and off loaded the wounded to its sickbay. Repairs on the _Fafnir_ have stabilized life support and shields so it is in no immediate danger as it is well away from the combat area. Because it cannot maneuver at warp though, it will have to be towed to starbase 393 for repairs. _Canaberra_, after transferring _Fafnir's_ photon torpedoes to its armory, has been especially active in both battle and in search and rescue operations.

"_Entereprise_ has felt the brush of the other basestar's CPAWS beam, and it was only because of Lieutenant McDougal's deft handling of the helm at high impulse velocity that we escaped the full fury of the beam as it brushed by the starboard shield, nearly collapsing it even from the glancing hit.

"The Colonial fighters are sturdy machines, but have zero shielding as we recognize it, a single laser hit is enough to cause the fighter to vaporize. The Colonials have miniature lifepods surrounding the pilot which is ejected after a fatal hit. _Canaberra's_ crew has rescued 18 Colonial pilots during the battle. _Fafnir's_ F-33s have shown their combat utility by engaging in dogfights with the Cylon Attack craft, and in several instances have assisted or been assisted by Colonial pilots. It is my hope that this combat bonding can be developed into something more in the future."

"Mop up operations are proceeding quickly, several of the quasi-sentient robots called _Clons_ have been recovered and with the help of Colonial pilots have been deactivated in a non-lethal fashion, so technically we have several dozen prisoners of war. I think this is unique in Federation legal history, we may finally have to face the question of whether sentient or quasi-sentient AIs are _Persons_ or not. I expect Mr. Data to request TDY assignment to the team assigned to study the Cylons at the high security quarentine facility on Tantalus."

**END Log Entry**

Picard shuttered as he considered the possibilities of a full on CPAWS beam attack, clearly these Cylons were not pushovers -- but their tactics were slow and stilted, as though it had been centuries since they had to rely on anything but wave after wave of their fighter-bombers to dispatch an enemy long before coming within CPAWS range. It was only a matter of time until he and Kevar, and the Colonial battlestars, managed to shoot enough holes in the remaining Cylons to defeat them. It was taking an inordinate amount of time to accomplish this task however!

Picard's eyes were drawn to the main screen as the last remaining basestar Worf had been firing at finally lost cohesion and something vital deep in the bowls of the enemy vessel exploded. The primary explosion caused several other smaller but still potent explosions which eventually enveloped the entire basestar. Seconds later a mighty explosion which could only be caused by the disintegration of the basestar's main reactors and propulsion system enveloped the entire basestar. The central core disappeared in the explosion, and the upper saucer was blown free as the lower saucer dissolved into a quickly expanding cloud of debris and raw radiation.

"YES!" McDougal jumped upfrom her seat in front of the helm controls, "You gott'em, Worf!"

A pleased grin played across Worf's normally unreadable face and he said: "Was there ever any doubt?"

* * *

There was jubilation in Core Control on the Battlestar _Galactica_. 

"Did you see that?" Tigh asked Adama who was sitting in the _Galactica's_ command chair studying the tactical readouts from the sensors.

"The last basestars ... I was looking at the sensor screen when it's icon just vanished. Well, never mind, I'm positive IFN got it on 3D - it was spectacular! The larger alien ship -- _Enterprise_ -- had been firing their phased energy weapon at the basestar, one beam after the other, _wham! wham! Wham!_ The gunner must have concentrated on a single section on the command core and punched right through to the solium reactors."

Adama grinned at his Executive Officer. "Calm down 'cadet' Tigh," Adama teased his friend. "We've seen basestars destroyed before."

"Ohhhh, but not like this ... it was sweet!"

"Commander Adama, Commander Cain of the _Pegasus_ is making contact." Athena said turning from her communications and sensor panel. The main screen showed the last vestiges of Cylon jamming; the image was in black and white and interspersed with a liberal amount of "snow".

"That's two down and one to go, Adama. I TOLD you we'd bag three of them today! The third basestar is badly damaged and trying to disengage from the alien and withdraw. Two thirds of Silver Spar Squadron is refueled and rearmed. They want ... HELL! I want ... to chase down that last basestar."

Adama was in a truly relaxed mood, it had been a yahren since he felt this good. "Would you even obey an order _not_ to pursue the basestar?"

"What's that Adama? Cylon jamming has picked up a lot on this end. Say again all after 'would'..."

What a transparent ruse. Cain was even smiling openly, well it was not as though he had not used the same dodge on numerous occasions during the war before having to shoulder the responsibilities of the supreme commander.

"All right, Cain. I'll save you the disgrace of a courts martial for disobeying orders under fire...go kill the basestar. Give the alien the first shot at it, they've worked hard for it --but if they fails, finish it."

"Now **that's** the Adama I remember from the battle of _Cor'ul-vahta_ Nebula," Cain said and the screen returned to forward scan mode.

"Omega," Adam sighed, "Bring the _Galactica_ to full stop and prepare to recover Vipers."

"It shall be done," Omega said - his hands moving swiftly and expertly over the banked helm and maneuvering controls in front of him. Slowly, ponderously the six and a half million tons of Colonial Battlestar arrested its forward momentum and stopped dead in space to give its landing bay ILS systems a stable "horizon" to broadcast to the tiny Viper flight computers allowing nearly automatic landings of the Viper fighters, a big plus when there might be a wounded or dead pilot aboard a fighter.

Adama leaned back in the command chair and striated his long legs out in front. It was good to be alive after battle with a totally evil foe. On the armrest of his command chair a tiny LED winked in rhythm to a low volume beeping from his private comm-line. He punched the accept transmission button and a small 9 inch screen on the armrest illuminated with the image of a small brown haired boy badly in need of a hair cut.

"Grandpa, is my dad back yet?"

"Not yet, Boxey. But he's okay, so are the Starbucks and the others. We took very light causalities today because of the intervention by the aliens."

"Whew," the eleven-yarhen-old boy let out a gusty sigh of relief. This had become a ritual after each mission. Boxey would wait until the "all-clear" had sounded, and then called Core Control to check on the status of his adopted father, Squadron Captain Apollo, Adama's son. So far neither of them had gotten bad news for which Adama daily thanked the Lords of Kobal and the All-High.

"When will he be home?" the boy asked.

"I don't know exactly. You probably heard on IFN that the beta flight bay is closed because of a large solium fire. He might have to land on the _Pegasus_ tonight and then shuttle his Viper across tomorrow..."

"Oh boy!" Boxey shouted. "_**REMEMBER YOUR PROMISE**_!"

"Now wait a centon, Boxey..."

The boy had been extremely ill with a fever three months ago and Adama had been willing to even deal with Count Iblis if it would save Boxey. The boy in a deep fever had extracted a promise that he could "ride along" the next time Apollo's Viper had a fleet shuttling operation, either to the Maintenance barge, or between Battlestars as now. Adama had expected Boxey would remember none of it. He'd been dead wrong of course and Boxey remembered every word. Twice before Apollo, Cassiopeia and he had combined to throw auxiliary requirements into the deal which had stopped him, but he'd dutifully met all of these and Adama could see from the set of his jawline that the 11-yarhen-old would not be put off this time. Besides with three Cylon basestars destroyed in a single day there would be no Cylon menace for months to come. Adama found himself reluctantly agreeing that if ever this was to happen, _now_ was the right time.

"You **_P-R-O-M-I-S-E-D_** !" the boy repeated.

Rubbing his chin, Adama smiled widely at Boxey. "Yes, I did. If you can get your Dad to agree and get Cassiopeia to take you over, I can see no reason to delay this any more..."

"YEEHAH!" Boxey shouted at the top of his lungs. "I've gotta go find Cassiopeia so I can tell her." The screen darkened.

Adama knew Cassiopeia would also try to persuade Boxey to put off this "mission" ... he wished her more luck than he'd had.

"Commander Adama, the commander of the _Enterprise_ is making contact." Athena said. "The alien vessel is maneuvering to within 40 kilocubits of us.

Adama quickly sat up strait and attempted to look like the supreme commander of the Colonial Military and member of the Council of Twelve. The main viewer showed the Core Command sector of the alien vessel and its rather sparse crew. Adama's command center was large to be sure, but it was close and crowded with the instrumentation of the battlestar's command, control and communications systems and required a crew of 17 to run it efficiently; the Enterprise's Core Command was open and airy, its relatively low density of instrumentation hinted at a fantastic level of cybernetic control; only six of the humanoid crew were visible.

"Admiral Adama," the bald alien smiled widely, "I am Captain Jean Luc Picard, of the United Federation of Planets starship U.S.S. _Enterprise_. We had an opportunity to meet briefly a few hours ago, and now I really would like to sit down with you and ask about a thousand questions."

"I feel the same way, Captain. And my rank is Commander, I've never been officially confirmed as an Admiral."

"'Admiral' is the term we use to refer to a fleet commander, and in that you certainly qualify. I've had a chance to briefly scan the data that you sent on your conflict with the Cylons. In that you mention that you are searching for a lost thirteenth tribe of your people who settled on a planet called 'Earth'?"

"Yes, that is correct. We've been following this course for five yarhens as it is suppose to lead to Earth."

"Well, I can't speak to the possibility of any '13th Tribe', but I come from a planet who's name **is** Earth, so do the majority of my crew."

"Praise the Lords of Kobal. We've finally found you. Thousands of yarhens ago your people were the 13th Tribe. It appears you've forgotten your heritage -- but we can remedy that."

"Commander, I'd like to invite you and your senior officers, especially the senior pilots of your fighter squadron, to dinner on the _Enterprise_. I'd like for them to brief our tactical people on the tactics you normally use against these Cylons."

"That's very kind of you, we accept. My pilots are still flying, we had a serious fire in one of our landing bays. With your permission, I'll instruct my three top pilots to rendezvous with your ship -- you do have some kind of landing bay, don't you?"

"Yes, the _Enterprise_ has a hangar deck, we can accommodate three of your Vipers easily."

"And the rest of my staff and I will take a shuttle across."

"Well, if you'll permit one of my engineering crews to come aboard I think we can dispense with the shuttle."

Adama frowned, confused, "I'm sorry, Captain, I don't know what you mean."

"The reason that our ship has so few shuttles is that our main mode of transportation between surface and orbit or between vessels is via transmat.

"Transmat?"

"Yes, its a form of transport similar to teleportation. It will involve one of my engineering crews setting up a portable transmat link on your ship. Then passing between our vessels will be as simple as walking through a door."

"Wheweeee," Adama whistled "Your technical achievements certainly have surpassed ours..."

"May I send the engineering crew onboard one of our shuttles?"

"Uh...Yes, yes, of course. Please use the starboard landing bay."

* * *

Boxey found it hard to tell if he were making any headway with Cassiopeia or not. She certainly was stubborn, just _like_ a girl, the preteen boy snorted. Since his real mother, Serena, had been killed by the Cylons shortly after they had begun their flight to the stars five yarhens ago, the task of mothering him had been split up between Cassiopeia, who was Lee Starbuck's wife, Athena, who was his adopted Dad's sister and Sheba, the Captain of Pegasus's Silver Spar Squadron and his Dad's girlfriend. Leah Starbuck, his favorite friend LEE Starbuck's twin sister also played a part, mostly as his advocate in this huge argument. Leah shared Boxey's feeling that this was a wonderful idea. In fact, Leah had offered to smuggle him onboard a Raptor ELINT/EW fighter for a ELINT patrol around the circumference of the fleet, a three or four hour ride. Tempting as that was, Boxey knew it would cost him at least a yearhen's grounding, and would kill all hope of ever getting the Viper ride with his dad. 

Three months ago when he had first secured the Promise from Grandpa Adama, he had also had to gain permission for his ride-allong from the other significant adults in his life, his dad, Sheba, Athena, the Starbucks, and Cassiopeia.

The easiest to convince had been Sheba, who had been born aboard the Pegasus and had begun her flight training at ten and had been flying combat missions at fifteen. Sheba had seen nothing at all odd about Boxey wanting to ride along on a shuttling run, and she had been instrumental in convincing his dad of the wisdom of it. It had also been easy to gain Lee and Leah Starbuck's approval. It appealed to the swashbuckling little boy in Lee that was so close to the surface. In fact of all of his adult friends, Lee was the one he chose most often when he wanted to play, because it was easy for Starbuck to "shift gears" and abandon his adult personae thus becoming a small boy again.

Athena and Cassiopeia however had been appalled at the idea and had both initially resisted the idea of his ride-allong. He had however finally converted Athena to his cause by fulfilling his commitment to raise his grades in school from just adequate which he was totally satisfied with to superior, which he had to admit had pleased all of the adults, and so had been worth the effort in the long run. It had paid dividends in other areas of his daily life.

Now he was using the fact that Grandpa Adama had finally switched to his side to batter away at Cassiopeia's arguments. He could sense she was wavering, but for some reason, he was still unable to tip her over the edge into complete support.

"Cassiopeia, I don't know what you are so worried about," Boxey said, his exasperation with her objections showing through. "It's not like the Cylons are going to attack while we're doing the shuttle. Dad, Starbuck and the others defeated three basestars this afternoon. Even IF the Cylons wanted, they couldn't launch another attack by tomorrow morning ... it'll be weeks before they CAN gather another fleet. And its not like Dad can't fly a Viper safely with me along."

Cassiopeia was more than a little relieved when the comm-line rang. It gave her a minute to collect her thoughts. Maybe she was wrong to oppose this ride-allong thing, after all, Apollo and Starbuck had no problem with it. And - how far could the Pegasus be? A few light seconds a most; and Boxey _was_ right, the destruction of three basestars had certainly broken the back of the Cylon fleet in this sector - they could look forward to weeks of delicious boredom, with only routine patrols and no Cylons.

The comm-line was Commander Adama.

"Cassiopeia, I'd like you to attend a meeting in my briefing room right now."

"Of course, Commander. "I'm on the way."

Boxey looked sourly at her. "This isn't over, I'm going on that ride-allong."

"All right, Boxey. You win. Everyone else seems to think it's a good idea, I give up." Cassiopeia said wearily.

"Really? You agree?" Boxy brightened up immediately.

"No, I don't agree, I'm simply tired of the fight. If your father and Sheba think it is a good idea ..."

"Oh, thank you, Cassiopeia, maybe dad will take me past the alien ships first, if they don't leave right away."

"Perhaps. Can you please watch Cassandra while I'm with Commander Adama?"

"Sure, she's with Muffit right now..."

* * *

Cassiopeia stepped out of the turbolift and onto the _Galactica's_ axial core, a 50 meter wide deck with a ceiling 10 meters overhead, that ran the kilocubit length of the battlestar's biosphere. The core was also the primary source of the raw materials for _Galactica's_ closed ecology life support system CELSS and as such had a thick floor of earth in which were planted trees, bushes and of course grass. The plants were all genetically engineered to double as atmosphere scrubbers, removing carbon dioxide and other contaminants from the air, they used these raw materials and the light from the wide overhead solar spectrum lights to grow and bloom, releasing oxygen as a byproduct. One not familiar with the _Galactica_ could easily mistake the axial core for a large municipal park connecting the Core Command with the main reactor room and engineering in the aft of the battlestar. The axial core was like _Galactica's_ 'main street' from here you could get turbolifts going to virtually any part of the city-sized starship, from the residential blocks, where Cassie had come from, to the huge flight decks with their Viper hangers and ordnance bays. 

The deck of the Core had tastefully designed stone walkways which overlaid the earthen base. There were grass and trees growing in great profusion. The area where Cassiopeia had entered the Core was virtually a forest glade, with specially genetically engineered great trees which twisted and arched over head. Down the center of the core ran the Galactica's creek, a swiftly moving body of water maybe a few cubits wide at its widest point and a cubit or so deep.

The walk down the Axial Core to Commander Adama's compound was always a pleasure for Cassiopeia, it was always so calm and peaceful ...

"Hey! Look out down range!"

"Heads UP!"

Cassiopeia flattened herself against the trunk of a great tree, just as two young boys, slightly older than Boxey, came roaring past her on antigrav boards, skimming a cubit above the grass.

"Sorry, Lady ..." one of the boys shouted over his shoulder as he whisked past her at way too high a speed for the terrain and was almost instantly lost in among the great trees.

"Well, so much for _calm_ and _peaceful_," Cassiopeia muttered to herself and continued on her way to the briefing. She thought the subject of the meeting might be to disseminate information on the aliens who seemed to be of two separate races who had supplied such timely aid during this most recent combat against the Cylons; and Cassiopeia was intensely curious.

"Cassie! Hey, wait a minute!" Cassiopeia looked around and spotted Sheba, still in her combat gear coming from the main shaft leading to the Alpha Landing Bay. The two women gave each other a friendship hug as they met and then Sheba said:

"Apollo and Starbuck will be a little late..."

Cassie nodded, "I know, they've just in the last centon sounded the all clear from the Solium fire in Beta bay."

Sheba grinned widely. "No, its even better than that. Our guys got tapped to represent the entire Viper Corps over on the big alien ship, the _Enterprise_, I think they call it."

"Nutz!" Cassie growled, "I was looking forward to a romantic late supper with Starbuck."

"Oh girl, its gonna get a lot better!" Sheba chortled, but would say no more. "C'mon, I figure you're on your way to Adama's briefing room, is that right?"

"Yeah, he called a few sentari ago, I thought it was to give a briefing on the new aliens..."

"In a way," Sheba said, still grinning.

"Sheba! You know something ..."

"Of course I do. How do you think I made Squadron Captain so fast? I ALWAYS know things before anyone else..."

* * *

"_Enterprise_ shuttle, this is _Galactica_ Core Control. You are clear for immediate landing in shuttle bay Alpha. Please follow the deck officer's directions to the shuttle hangar area." 

"_Galactica_, this is _Enterprise_ shuttle _Einstein_, Roger, we are on your aft starboard quarter, on final approach," Lieutenant LaForge said and mentally tweaked the input of his optivisor to include long wave infrared. In that wavelength, the _Galactica's_ shuttle bay alpha glowed a bright, inviting yellow white, almost identical to sunlight.

"Geeze, LaForge," Lt. Yar, the _Enterprise's_ chief of security and commander of this away mission, said as the shuttle craft matched velocity with the battlestar's landing platform. "It's kinda dark and spooky to be making a warp four approach toward an alien vessel isn't it. I can't see a thing."

"Never fear, LaForge is here!" Geordi said tapping his visor, "You forget I can see in the dark...ah there we are, they've turned on the lights."

As LaForge brought the shuttle ever closer to the deck of the battlestar, the landing bay lights came on, they were dim by "normal" standards, meant not to blind pilots who's eyes were dark adapted from staring out of Viper canopies at the inky blackness of interstellar space. A double row of progressive animated lights, red to starboard and green to port marked the main "active" runway of the flight deck.

Geordi brought the shuttle to dead stop relative to the deck of the battlestar some fifty meters inside the landing bay and hovered on countergrav pads. Far down the landing bay was a man with two light wands in his hands.

"That must be the deck officer the controller spoke of," Yar said.

Geordi let the shuttle drift forward to where the landing deck officer was. He indicated that they should bring the shuttle through a thirty meter wide by twelve meter high arch on the inboard side of the landing bay to a second, isolated parking ramp in front of dozens of hangars in which were parked both the Viper fighters that the _Enterprise_ people had seen in combat, and other box-like vessels which must have been the _Galactica's_ version of a shuttle. The deck officer indicated that Geordi should let the shuttle land where they were.

As the landing skids on the bottoms of the port and starboard warp nacelles touched the deck of the hangar, Geordi cut main power to the drives and the ever-present low thrumming of the shuttle's engines died away.

* * *

Athena had been chosen by Adama to meet and greet the alien guests who might or might not be descendants of the lost Thirteenth Tribe of Man. She was nervous, but excited at the same time, and very glad to have the _Galactica's_ senior marine NCO and a phalanx of marines with her. 

"There goes the main hatchway, Captain." sergeant major Orion of the Colonial Marines hissed in combat-speak. The sergeant major gave a quick hand signal, and the marines deployed along a double line between the shuttle and the main turbolift. Athena noted that they were in full battle dress as though going into combat, except that the leather and plastine accouterments were polished to paradefield level. They were also carring pulse rifles, the heaviest small arms in the Colonial arsenal.

* * *

Lt. Yar, and security crewmen Everett and DePauli were the first out the shuttle hatch and on the deck of the alien ship. 

"Heads up, El-tee," DePauli hissed. "Aggressors."

"Easy, Mr. DePauli. We don't know that yet, but keep your eyes and ears open. Phasers set to heavy stunn."

"Aye, sir." came the affirmative reply from both security crewmen.

LaForge and his eleven-member engineering away team were clumping down the shuttle's egress ramp, toting the components of a field transmat station. Tasha caught Geordi's arm and whispered: "Be aware that the 'honor guard' is armed to the teeth."

"Yeh, I can see that," Geordi said. "IR signature indicates some kind of potent pulse maser circuitry and its hot and ready for action. These _pa'TOKs_ are ready to go to war."

* * *

Athena took a deep breath as the alien woman who was obviously in charge came forward. "The greetings of the Lords of Kobal," Athena said, intoning the ages old welcoming ritual. "Welcome to the _Galactica_, I am Captain Athena, I'll be your guide and liaison while you are here." 

"I am Lieutenant Tasha Yar, the head of security for the Federation Starship _Enterprise_. I notice your 'honor guard' is well armed."

Athena blushed. "You will have to accept our apologies if this seems an over reaction," Athena started.

"Just a bit over the top," Geordi said.

"Oh, excuse me," Tasha said a touch of embarrassment in her voice. "Captain Athena, this is Lt. Commander Georgi LaForge, the leader of the engineering team that will erect the transmat station."

"Pleased to meet you Commander LaForge," Athena said. "As I said, if the marine detachment seems excessive; please remember that we have been at war with the Cylons for a thousand yarhens; and Cylons are masters of deception. Until that hatch opened and you exited your craft we could not be sure that this was NOT a Cylon trap. We've been badly fooled before this by things that seemed too good to be true."

Yar and LaForge exchanged glances, and then Lt. Yar said: "Understandable under the circumstances."

Athena had decided that she liked this Federation soldier, and this did not come easily for Athena, who had been tricked, lied to, and embarrassed on numerous occasions by those whom she had to come in contact with in her duties as Galactica's Chief of Communications and Detection. She turned to the Marine sergeant major.

"Sergeant major Orion, you may repost 3/4 of the phalanx to other duties - the remaining sextaurii will safe their weapons and sling arms."

The marine did not look happy about it, but gave the orders. The marines themselves went through the motions of transferring their pulse rifles from a _lazy-at-ready position_, to slung over their left shoulders in an almost catlike fluid motion, then the majority spun around on their heels and marched off with the sergeant major.

Athena turned back to the Federation detachment, "Now, where would be the best place to set up this 'gateway'?"

Tasha let a wide smile cross her normally 'business only' official personae. "I'm certain that your sergeant major would prefer a compartment that he can easily seal and isolate from the rest of the ship. The technical requirements are only a patch of deck five meters by three meters with at least a 2.8 meter vertical clearance for our equipment."

"That shouldn't be too difficult to find," Athena said and led the way toward the main connecting corridor to the central sections of the Battlestar.

* * *

In a protected alcove room off of _Galactica's_ Axial Core, a three meter wide by two-and-a-half meter tall crystal and metal frame now stood in the center of the 40 square meters of floor space. It was surrounded by engineering hyperpower converters, thick electrical conduits and ODN cables. Lt. Yar, Athena, and the two security detachments stood around talking quietly as the engineering crew completed its tasks. The last of the connections to the transmat from _Galactica's_ main power grid were complete and tested under maximum load conditions, and now LaForge and Chief O'Brian, the _Enterprise's_ transport chief, were conducting the last of the temporal synchronizing routines which guaranteed that both ends of the mini-wormhole that the transmat generated would be in the same temporal reference frame. In the early days of transmat design, it was not uncommon for the two ends of the wormhole to connect totally different temporal reference frames, sometimes only seconds shifted from each other, but on other occasions the shift had been years, even centuries. 

Finally LaForge looked up from his engineering tricorder and the other bits of test equipment spread around the portable transmat. He nodded at O'Brian who flipped a circuit breaker which fed raw electrical power from _Galactica's_ power grid into the transmat emitters. There was a loud metallic KAH-CHUNGG! from the meter square power relays as a oversized internal metal-to-metal multiple knife switches engaged. A soft almost subliminal hum filled the room and the transmat frame's pilot lamps illuminated, indicating the transmat frame was now powered by _Galactica's_ power grid and ready to establish a bi-stable wormhole between the _Galactica_ and _Enterprise's_ main transmat system.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the Kobalites in the alcove and then a sigh as nothing more startling happened.

"Okay, we're ready to go," O'Brian pronounced.

Geordi turned to Athena and Lt. Yar, "Ladies, we are ready to create the bridge."

Lt. Yar looked at Athen questioningly.

Athena took a pocket-com and pressed the transmit switch. "Core Control, this is Athena. The aliens are ready to attempt a test of the transmat device."

Adama's voice crackled out of the small comm unit's speaker. "Very well. Proceed with test."

Athena turned to LaForge, "All right, Commander, let's see this doorway in action."

"Okay Chief, lets get this link established," LaForge grinned.

O'Brian touched his communicator. "O'Brian to _Enterprise_, ready to initiate wormhole."

"_Enterprise_ standing by," the Chief's senior assistant on _Enterprise_ acknowledged. O'Brian made a few adjustments on the transmat's control console and activated the three slidebar levers that initiated the space-time continuum twisting transmat's engine. There was a slight whiff of ozone, and a soft tinkling buzz as the first pathfinder vertaron particles were exchanged between the field transmat and the _Enterprise's_ master unit. In the center of the transmat frame, a small galaxy of laser-pure colored sparks of light appeared, and quickly spread out to fill the entire area enclosed by the transmat frame. The individual sparks of color coalesced into a pearly white glow and the tinkling swiftly rose in frequency into the ultrasonic. There was a bright flash and the opaque glow of the wormhole vanished.

Two points in space-time, one in he biosphere of the Colonial Battlestar _Galactica_ and the other onboard the Federation Starship _Enterprise_ were now tied together by the transmat's wormhole. Baryonic matter could now instantly transverse the over 30,000 kilometers separating the two starships.

"Absolutely incredible," Athena marveled as she advanced to the very edge of the wormhole and peered into the _Enterprise_. She was closely followed by the Colonial Marines, who had unslug their pulse rifles and were looking through the gateway at a detachment of Star Fleet marines, also conspicuously armed with phaser rifles. The two military detachments eyed each other with mutual caution.

"Stand down, marines." Athena and Tasha give the order simultaneously. The two officers looked at each other, and the tension was broken by their laughter.

"Great minds think alike," Tasha giggled. Athena could only nod, smiling, surprising her own laughter.

* * *

It had been almost eight hours since the _Galactica_ and _Enterprise_ had been connected by the wormhole corridor. The initial suspicion and caution had almost completely evaporated as both Colonial and Federation/Klingon personnel realized that they had much more in common than differences. Within an hour the Star Fleet Marines had been withdrawn, and shortly after the Colonial Marines had also pulled back. Now the transmat gateway was very busy with people coming and going both ways. There were currently two active portals in the Transmat Control Room. One led to the Klingon Flagship and the other to the _Galactica_. A large formal diplomatic reception was scheduled for that evening, and Colonial, Federation, and Klingon food services personnel were shuttling back and forth. The _Enterprise_ TCR was very, very busy ... too busy for anyone to notice two _Enterprise_ children slip in and quickly slip behind the clutter and out of sight. 

"I dare you, Wesley. You can't do it -- no one could," Starnat Xangarian whispered as the two crouched in the Number Three Transmat Portal's away mission alcove which was crowded with stacks of shipping crates destined for one of the other vessels. Starnat and Wesley had spent ten minutes crouched down, hiding in among the clutter to make absolutely certian they knew which portal led to the _Galactica_. It would be very embarrassing to pick the wrong one and materialize in among a group of Klingon Warriors.

"Sure I can," the twelve-year-old boy said confidently. "All I need is for you to distract Mr. O'Brian so I can dart through."

"I can do that," the young Andorian girl said slowly, "but you know your mom will shit a brick when she finds out!"

"And yours will wash your mouth out with soap if she hears you talking like that," Wesley teased the younger girl.

"But how will you get back?" the ten-year-old asked concerned. Starnat had a big crush on Wesley -- she considered him to be her boyfriend, and she did not want him getting into trouble.

"I'll solve that problem when I get to it!" Wesley said.

Wesley playfully tugged on Starnat's long brown hair and waved as he swept his quick gaze over the TCR. All clear, no one watching, Chief O'Brian was busy giving instructions to the relief transmat specialist before leaving to prepare for the diplomatic function later that evening.

"See ya later!" he whispered and made his move, stepping through the portal in the same movement that brought him out of their hiding place.

Starnat almost missed the whole thing because she'd turned her attention to a recently arrived tray of _stink_ from the Klingon ship. She wrinkled her nose. _HOW _could Klingons actually EAT such? The covered tray was making small sounds ... Like it was still alive? Her antennae twitched as the humanly imperceptible energy field around the transmat platform flickered momentarily with Wesley's transit.

The lid covering one of the larger dishes was actually moving? Her stomach performed its own acrobatics while Starnat considered what to do while she waited for Wesley to return. She decided the best course of action was to evacuate the area, lest she be discovered and questioned. Likewise, something in that dish seemed to be interested in also leaving the area, and Starnat, despite her excitement at hearing Wesley recount his adventure, now had enough encouragement to go almost anywhere ... away from whatever was now waiving a not-so-tentative tentacle into the open air of the transmat room.

* * *

For his part, Wesley hadn't wasted any time upon arrival aboard _Galactica_. The _Galactica_ side now looked a lot like a large closet, crammed full of things. Boxes, jugs of various liquids and fresh raw produce. For the moment it was deserted, but from somewhere through the wide entry came the sounds of voices and happy laughter. Wesley spied a dark corner of the alcove and slid into its cloaking emptiness just as a pair of women rolling heavy trays of covered dishes on a cart walked through a door at the other end. He watched and listened to their speech, acknowledging his friend's wisdom in procuring for him one of her father's military grade Universal Translators. Starnat's father was a member of _Enterprise's_ marine platoon that regularly supplied security for Away Missions, and so had access to more complex and miniaturized translators. These needed no language references like the civilian versions did to function, and they were self contained in a tiny button earphone that was virtually invisible unless someone were searching for it. The women were yammering on about cooking and what gourmet delicacies the aliens might have. Wesley had to surpress a snicker as he thought of Klingon Ggaahhh, which the Klingons certainly considered a gourmet delicacy. At least he knew the Universal Translator was working with the Colonial dialect. 

Wesley's curiosity got the best of him and he leaned out a bit, eyeing the trays, smelling strange, but enticing food on them. He regretted not being an officer, which would make it far more likely he would have a chance to taste some of those delicacies. Instead, he was just a kid and would have to settle, at this the boy smiled widely in anticipation, for exploring the Galactica without permission, and keep his activities secret -- or face some of those same officers on their terms. Wesley shivered, thinking of Worf again and the Rite of Ascension ritual he had witnessed. THAT would not be a good thing. Not good at all. However, with typical 12-year-old bravado, Wesley took a step out of the shadows.

Something growled. It was a low, tense warning, something like that which Worf frequently issued to members of Wesley's school class as they traversed the corridors of the Enterprise en route to various locations. The hair on the back of the boy's neck obediently rose as a shiver passed along his spine, and then spread out through his body, following the boy's autonomic nervous system. Worf was not here ... But whatever that was didn't seem any more tolerant of his presence than the stern Klingon Warrior.

"_Muffit! Quiet_!" The growl ceased immediately.

Wesley peered into the room with renewed suspicion. The women had left nearly a minute ago. He was certain this was not the voice of someone with proper clearance. The timber was way too high. It sounded like a kid, a Colonial kid as curious about _Enterprise_ as he was about _Galactica_? In that case, Wesley reasoned, they'd have nothing to lose if they knew about each other. He stepped into the dimmed light of the transmat room.

No response.

Wesley stepped around the waiting trolleys and pretended to proceed for the door.

The growling began anew and a dog sprang out from behind a stack of crates to the left of the door.

"Muffit!" A boy slightly younger than himself jumped out and snatched the ... ? ... away from Wesley's leg where the creature had tried to get a hold of him with it's small mouth. Hey, wait a minute, Wesley thought, something is not right about that -- dog?

"_Muffit! No_!" The boy held the -- dog -- protectively and eyed the stranger. Whatever the creature was, it emitted a low, unhappy whine, followed by a very dog-like yelp.

He doesn't look like an alien, Boxey thought. He wasn't three cubits high, had no horns or tail, his eyes were blue-gray instead of red and he didn't even have a pitchfork. In fact he looked like a kid!

Muffit still wasn't sure of that though and tested Boxey's restraining hold on him. No luck, the boss was serious about not attacking the strange smell.

While Boxey was sizing him up, Wesley was also trying to gage the Colonial boy. About 11 years old, 1.48 meters tall, 37 kilos, wearing a blue, gray and gold jumpsuit like thing that was not too different from Wesley's own Enterprise playsuit. Brown hair and eyes. Wesley noted the width of his shoulders, he might be difficult to take in a fight if it came to that. Well, what would Picard do? First Contact Protocols of course. Deciding to take the initiative, as the visitor and potentially the one who could be in deep doo-doo if this went badly, Wesley offered his hand. "I'm Wesley," he said slowly.

The Colonial boy was startled by Wesley's voice. Seeing the boy's shocked expression gave Wesley pause to wonder which aspect of the situation had caused it. This First Contact scenario was not going like it usually did on the holodecks. Were his manners at fault? Maybe kids were not as free to start conversations here. Wesley had been on worlds where kids were expected to only speak if spoken to by an adult. Was handshaking appropriate, here? Or was it a sign of agression, like smiling could be viewed as a snarl showing the "fangs". But that was in non-human cultures, THAT shouldn't apply here. Perhaps it was his jumpsuit? No, that couldn't be it, the Colonial kid's outfit was virtually the same, except for colors ...

"Your from the alien ship, aren't you?" Boxey asked, watching Wesley carefully.

"Err..." Wesley stammered, caught by surprise by the other boy.

"C'mon," Boxey coaxed. "I saw you when you came through the light thing. AND you can understand what I'm saying. _Nuclear_!"

Wes reached into his pocket and brought out the extra Universal Translator he had brought -- just in case. His movements got him a startled look from the boy and a tense growl from the 'dog'. The Terran boy tried to make his voice pleasant. "If you use this," he offered the earpiece to Boxey, "We'll understand each other."

Boxey eyed the device, not sure what he should do. Wesley, moving slowly to appease the 'dog' reached up to his own ear and pulled the UT out of his own ear, then reinserted it, indicating that the Colonial boy should do the same. Shrugging, Boxey put the alien earphone in his ear. There was a soft "sluuusshh!" sound in his ear and a tiny tickle in his inner ear. The sound and the sensation were almost instantly gone. Boxey waited to see what would happen.

Nothing happened.

Wesley smiled, "You have to talk to see how it works."

The boy's eyes widened and he smiled. It wasn't a Cylon trap, or a weapon, and it did indeed translate what the alien boy said.

Boxey jumped to his feet in excitement. "I'm Boxey! You're from _Enterprise_? You're human! That's amazing! You're not an alien' at all!"

Wesley was surprised he could keep up with Boxey's words. They tumbled over each other like drops of water in the holodeck's Niagara program. He found himself squelching the same expression he'd seen on his mother's face a thousand times.

Boxey paused to breathe.

"Yes, I'm from _Enterprise_. My father was from Earth, and my mother is from another world. Yes, we're humans. I was surprised because you guys look so ...so ... human ..."

"Hey! We are humans!" Boxey said, a little insulted. "My grandpa says you're the Thirteenth Tribe of Kobal."

"No, I don't mean that. There are humans spread all over the galaxy. We say your human if two people from different cultures can have sex to produce a baby."

"Really?" Boxey giggled. Muffit growled again, still not convinced that Wesley was indeed a friend. "This is my daggit, Muffit," Boxey continued. "Don't worry, he's harmless. C'mon. You wanted to see _Galactica_? I'll show you." The boy walked through the alcove entry and out into the sprawling Axial Core. "C'mon. Muffit, here boy." The daggit scurried happily behind Boxey, glad to be out of the confined area with all the alien smells in it.

A 'daggit?" Wesley asked as he followed Boxey out into the well lit seemingly endless expanse of grass, trees, bushes and paved walkways that crisscrossed the Axial Core. He glanced at Muffit with curiosity.

"You don't have daggits?" Boxey was surprised. Muffit growled as Wesley leaned in for a closer look. "He's a robot of a daggit, actually. We don't have a lot of animals on _Galactica_, there was not enough time -- or space to save many animals. But Apollo says he's an exact copy of a real pet daggit that would live on some of the Twelve Colonies."

"You mean a dog, right? We have those on _Enterprise_. Not enough for all of us to have one, but we have a few in the school where we can all take care of them."

"Real daggits?" Boxey's eyes bugged out. "Wow! Light bridges, weapons that can destroy Cylon raiders in a flash! Lots of other aliens! AND live animals?"

Wesley smiled , "And other animals, too." Looking again at the daggit, Wes continued, "The more I look at Muffit, the more I think that its a totally different animal from a dog, though he does look a little like a fat French Poodle ..." Seeing an opportunity in the boy's excitement, Wesley made a proposal. "I could show you around Enterprise... if you want?"

"Would I?" Boxey nearly jumped out of his skin. "That would be nuclear!"

Footsteps approached the open door of the transmat alcove and the boys dashed back into the cover behind some bushes where they could still see the transmat portal. Wes could hardly sit still as more trolleys were lined up. A pair of technicians emerged from the Enterprise side and reached for the trolleys close to where Wesley had been. The other reached for the crates. The boys used the rattling as cover for their frantic scramble for cover. Another pair of technicians entered from the Galactica side, making the room far too crowded for comfort. The boys used the added distraction to dash from consealment and head down the open corridor. They assumed a casual pace among the few others out at the unusual hour. It was not unheard of to see children in the axial core at evening time, so they were not stopped as they might have been if they'd been about during school hours, or after ship-dark. Wesley was like a tourist, rubber necking as they passed groups of people. It was absolutely amazing how human the Kobalites looked, and it was entirely fascinating to know that these humans claimed to be related to his own Earth-born branch. The divergence must have happened in Earth-human prehistory. As the boys walked through a spacious arboretum, that Boxey called the Core, Wesley observed the striking similarity between the plants there and some of those which were currently thriving in Enterprise's counterpart. These too, had more than one plausible explanation, but the one the adults were whispering about seemed to gain potential.

Boxey led him across the over a hundred meter wide expanse of the huge battlestar's Life Support forest and through an unmarked blast door into the bowels of the Galactica.A medtech passed them as they entered the three meter wide corridor, and eyed Wesley's clothing muttering a curse under her breath at the insensible choices the youth had made when dressing himself. Forgetting himself, Wesley met the woman's gaze and she blushed, knowing he'd heard what she'd said. Likewise, Wesley reminded himself, this was NOT his ship, and he would do well to keep his thirst for attention under control. His trip would be cut severely short and with worse consequences than a sour look if he wasn't more careful. It was definitely clear that his playsuit was substantially different from anything Boxey was wearing, and didn't seem to have any hint of_ Galactica_ origin, despite what Wesley had originally thought. Perhaps it was better to be seen as an impudent teenager for the time being?

Wesley sighed and resigned himself to the misbegotten designation and focused his attention on the ship, not her passengers. And this was a fabulous ship. The technology was unlike that of any other culture Wesley had studied or personally explored, it was almost gothic in the maze of pipes and conduits lining the ceilings and even the walls of most corridors. On Enterprise, the conduits of the ODN and the pipes of the fluidic network were all hidden behind the smooth photoplastic of the hall that gave the ship its interior luminance. Chief O'Brian and the maintenance crews would love Galactica -- no scrunching into tiny crawl ways or jefferies tubes to reach a defective EPS or ODN node.

"I'll take you to our landing bays!" Boxey paused, "Well, Beta is closed...It'll have to be Alpha, but there's no difference really, except that my adoptive father's viper lands on Beta."

"Your father pilots a Viper?" Wesley breathed. "I watched them against the Cylon pilots. They were amazing! I'd love to try some of those moves in the simulator, but the program doesn't allow it. Wow!"

Boxey paused, "Hey! You know? If we did go to Beta, we'd be able to see a few things... and there might be less security since it's closed..." The boy puzzled it out. "And I know just how to do it!" He tucked Muffet under his arm, "C'mon Wesley! We won't be able to stay long, but it'll be nuclear, I promise!"

The boys squeezed through a service conduit barely wide enough to slide through sideways -- if they didn't inhale while they moved. It opened into a space large enough for them to stand together. The clear-sealed slit windows were smeared with fire-control solution, but it had solidified into an opaque shell over the outside surface.

"Perfect! The fire-out is airtight, so we don't have to worry about exposure." He tapped on the wall and the coating fractured and fell away from the slits like dust off an abandoned Bajoran artifact. Wesley was surprised to see the landing bay was in such good condition.

There were crews cleaning the walls and deck with something akin to a giant vacuum cleaner. The hoses snaked around the stowed shuttles and vipers, making the place look more like a living spider web wrapped around robotic bugs. Wesley silently chided his imaginative analysis.

The shuttles could probably carry fifty people apiece, Wesley thought, though they seemed deceptively small. Perhaps a hundred people could fit into the largest in a crunch. The Vipers, though...

Those were...

"Cool!" Wesley studied the closest one centimeter by centimeter, not leaving any tile unmeasured. "Your father flies that?" he asked with awe.

"Yup!" Boxey bounced on his toes, "He's the best pilot we have. I'm going to be on the ride-along when he brings his Viper back, tomorrow, too. My grandpa promised. I'm not sure how I'm going to do it now that he's on Enterprise, but I AM going to do it!"

Wesley caught the determination in his voice and admired it. It was clear from the awe in his voice that Boxey had worked awhile to earn this ride-along. Indeed, Wesley had to twist more than a few arms for his first shuttle ride, but a fully armored and battle-ready Viper? Cool!

Smoke stained and dirty as it was, the Viper was far more than Wesley had hoped to glimpse on his covert visit to the battleship. He did take a moment to study the launch tubes and their miniaturized mass driver systems as well as the general layout of the bay, which was looking less like it had just been burning with every second they stared through their peepholes. Wesley glanced around him, "What is this closet for, anyway?"

Boxey smiled, and pointed to the hooks hanging from the wall beside them. "This si where they keep the hoses for general maintenance." He gestured to the workers, "The ones they're using out there. Since they'd have closed the hatch behind them, I thought it was the perfect place to get a good view. We'd see them coming, easy."

Boxey headed back through the narrow entryway, "This is on the blueprints in the library." He stopped talking to stuff himself through, then continued "I know other's have found it, but I've never been caught and none of my friends have mentioned it, either." He shrugged, "Guess I won't have to remember to search here for my own sons someday, since we've found you." He smiled broadly, "Then again, we won't have to worry so much about the Cylons, either! I'll take that trade for certain!"

Wesley glanced at his chrono. "Whew! I'd better be getting back! I told my mother I'd be in engineering with Lieutenant Broccoli!"

Boxey grimaced, "Lieutenant what?"

Wesley laughed, "It's Barkley, really, but he's a little... shy. I shouldn't call him that, really. He's a great guy, and very smart. He helped me with my science project last term. I got an 'A'!"

Boxey frowned, "You have school, too." He sighed, "Too good to be true, wishing for no more school." The sly smile belied his true affinity it despite the resistance he put up.

Wesley nodded, "I know what you mean. It's my guess that every kid in the galaxy feels the same way." Glancing back toward the Beta Launch Bay, he continued "Now, if school was a more hands-on kinda thing ..."

Boxey raised his hand in a high-five gesture, faltered, then laughed as Wesley returned it. "We do have a lot in common."

Wesley led the way back to the transmat room, with Boxey's approving support. It was not often that he met someone with whom he could have such an easy camaraderie. Being Adama's grandson was hard enough, but being so smart too? It was one of the reasons he'd been so lazy at his schoolwork. Nothing at school was actually hard, but by getting just passing grades, he fit in more with his peers. The Viper trip had been a strong enough motivation, but it had cost him with his friends, who teased him about being favored in the first place. Now that he was making top marks and excelling far past his own expectations, he had no shelter from the accusations of favoritism and of being a smart-ass from his classmates.

An idea occurred to Wesley as they entered the currently unoccupied transmat room. "You wanna come back with me? I hear the dinner will be at 2000 hours." He looked down, "My chrono says that's an hour from now. You could come over after the dinner starts, and I could show you around while the grown-ups are eating. With luck, ALL the senior staff will be there and we'll only have to duck those unlucky enough to be on shift."

"Adama to Boxey?" a com crackled nearby.

The Kolobite grimaced, "Uh oh! I'd better get that." He glanced around at the nearly empty room, "Grab a shadow while I see what grandpa wants."

_Grandpa Adama_? Wesley put the pieces together quickly and stood into his protective cloak of shadows.

"This is Boxey." The boy had produced a pocket com, instead of using the one on the wall. Wise move, Wes thought, if they couldn't trace it. Wesley wondered briefly about _Galactica's_ internal sensor net.

"Yes, Grandpa?"

"Boxey? Where have you gotten to?" His grandfather's voice sounded incredulous, "I'd have thought you'd be all over the observation deck, or trying to get up here for a better view?" Adama laughed, "Oh, well. I have a job for you while I go to the dinner, tonight."

"You do?" He tried to sound enthusiastic, then realized he was, actually, excited about doing something special for his grandfather. This was a rare request, and would likely be involved with the aliens, too. "I mean," he faltered, "Nuclear, Grandpa, what is it?"

"I need you to stay out of trouble and plan a tour for some of the _Enterprise _children. I am going to see if Captain Picard might be interested in allowing some of their children to visit Galactica" His tone changed slightly, "Of course, this means you will have a chance to tour Enterprise, too. IF it is agreeable to the Captain, that is." He paused to let his offer sink in. "What do you think?"

Boxey pretended to think it over, glancing at Wesley's hiding place, which the boy had tentatively left, seeing no video feed to the communication. No one would know he was there, so why hide? Wesley looked dubious at the prospect of Captain Picard allowing a delegation of children peruse his ship, but it sounded good in abstract terms. He could always give Boxey an impromptu tour before the 'real' one took place. No one would be the wiser about that, either. He nodded support in Boxey's direction.

"Do I still get my ride-along, tomorrow?" Boxey asked cautiously. He could sense a bait-and-switch and wanted to preempt it if possible.

"Oh," Adama feigned forgetfulness, knowing it would be disregarded, but it bought a micron to think, "Well, Boxey, I'm just not sure if we can do it under these circumstances. You'd have to be on the _Enterprise_ and ... "

"IF I'm going to be on an approved tour, that would not be a problem."

Wesley nodded, grinning widely at the other boy's response. I'm glad we're not on opposing debate teams, Wesley thought.

"Right you are, Boxey!" Adama paused, "Well, I'll see what I can do about the tour, -- and the ride-along arrangements -- though I wish you'd consider the complications involved."

"I have, Grandpa, I have ... and you _**PROMISED**_."

"Lords of Kobol," Adama sighed, "so I did!" Exasperation tinged the admission, "I will also note your tenacious memory, which you should continue to demonstrate in your schoolwork, eh?"

Wesley rolled his eyes, at which Boxey stifled a snicker. These two were equals. He knew he was often in the same position, with his mother, Captain Picard and Commander Ryker all urging him to excel in school. Like Boxey though, he rarely had to struggle to obtain the academic blessings of his teachers aboard _Enterprise_. In fact, HIS trio of hair-shirts were more likely to chide him for spending too much time studying, because when he was interested in something he wanted to know everything about a subject. But he was not in a position to argue with Captain Picard or Commander Ryker on the same level as Boxey did with Commander '_Grandpa_' Adama.

"All right, Grandpa, I'll plan the tour, but I want my ride-along -- no matter what."

Adama sighed, "I'll see what I can do, Boxey, but the _Enterprise _is NOT my ship. My promise was made without that complication and I can't guarantee you'll get what you want at this moment."

Boxey's shoulders slumped, "OK, Grandpa. I understand."

Wesley went to his friend, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I can see how much the ride-along means to you, but I can't guarantee Captain Picard will cooperate. He's a little..." he thought for a moment, "Grumpy about having children on his ship in the first place. I'm not sure he'd like the idea of one in his shuttle bay at a time like this. It'd be a really amazing thing to get permission to be anywhere NEAR a shuttle bay on the most routine shift." He smiled, "But I think I can help with the tour' if you'd like?"

Boxey looked up, "What'd you have in mind?" A sly smile played across his face as a hint of interest crept through the boy's words.

Wesley ducked his head to miss an oversized pipe with pealing insolation, "I'm sure it won't take you that long to plan a tour, though I'm also sure it is your grandpa's plan that it will take you long enough to keep you out of trouble while they're having the diplomatic function, right?"

Boxey waved a hand in the air dismissively, "I don't need to plan anything! That's a plot if ever I heard one!" the eleven-year-old's voice betrayed a touch of exasperation. "I'll just get a lot of my friends together. Who wouldn't want to see the alien ship that can sweep Cylon raiders out of the sky like swatting flions?"

"Well," Wesley smiled slyly, "Then why don't you come over to the _Enterprise_ like we talked about and I could give you the tour? I'm pretty sure I can talk Commander Ryker -- that's Captain Picard's executive officer -- into making ME the host of the Enterprise tour -- that way, you'll already be on _Enterprise_. Captain Picard doesn't really like the idea of kids on his ship, but he IS a diplomat, I don't think he will turn down your grandpa's exchange tour idea. AND it means you won't have to sneak through the transmat portal."

Boxey smiled, "Wesley, we make a good team. BUT I was looking forward to the intrigue of sneaking aboard your ship. After all, YOU did it."

The two boys paused outside the entry to the alcove where the Galactica end of the transmat wormhole was. "Ok," Wesley said, "I'll go back and start planting the seeds that they want me to do a guided tour for some Galactica kids, you start getting your end ready."

"Got it," Boxey agreed.

Suddenly there was a lot of shouting of instructions and orders drifting out into the Axial Core from the Enterprise side of the wormhole. Chief O'Brian came through the portal and headed for the field transmat's controls. He was so preoccupied he did not notice the two boys.

"_DUCK_!" Wesley hissed.

"What?" Boxey asked, confused. He wondered what Wesley wanted with an aquatic water fowl at a time like this. Wesley grabbed the Colonial boy and pulled him in behind a new group of Star Fleet containers of various sizes and types. Boxey flattened himself on his stomach and cautiously peered out from between two storage crates. From the Galactica side came the sound of men running -- a lot of men. An instant later, a dozen or more Colonial marines in full combat armor and armed to the teeth, boiled into the room.

Boxey glanced at Wesley, and the Federation boy looked back. The expressions on their faces convinced the other that something unusual, and from the look of the marines, perhaps dangerous was going on. Boxey recognized Sergeant Major Orion, the _Galactica's_ top enlisted marine.

Boxey elbowed Wesley, "That's Orion," he pointed out the marine to Wesley. "He's the marine strike leader."

Another group of people had entered from the _Enterprise_. Wesley pointed out Commander Ryker to Boxey. The _Enterprise_ people were discretely armed with phaser pistols slung in magnetic loops on their belts. Commander Ryker and Sgt. Major Orion meet in front of the transmat portal, while Chief O'Brian is working on adjusting something in the transmat field emitter coils. Commander Ryker handed Orion a universal translator and the Colonial marine quickly sliped it into his ear.

"So," Orion began. "This transmat thing can access other ships besides _Enterprise_."

"Yes, all it takes is readjusting the exit aperture in space-time," Ryker said. "I understand that the Klingons have captured someone your people want pretty badly."

"That's the word I got," a menacing smile slowly spread across the marine's craggy face, but it never touched hi eyes which remained flint hard. "The traitor Baltar."

Boxey gasps, almost too loud. Baltar, here?

"Who's Baltar?" Wesley whispered to Boxey.

"Baltar is the one who gave away military secrets to the Cylons that caused my home planet to be destroyed ... and he's responciple for killing my mother!"

"Whew, a heavy duty traitor."

"Treason, nasty business," O'Brian muttered as he made adjustments to the field transmat's control surfaces.

The portal from Enterprise collapses and O'Brian snarled something in Klingon. Wesley's military translator picked it up but not the civilian version Boxey has. "Ready to receive wormhole." Wesley translated the Klingonaase for Boxey.

"Stand by, _Galactica_." Seconds later, the Transmat frame again glowed, this time with only red and yellow dots of light. More and more sparks of laser-pure red and yellow light appeared, seemingly winking into existence ut of nothingness. At a certain point the wormhole reached a critical mass and the Klingon generated wormhole broke through into normal space-time, exactly within the boundaries of the transmat frame. A flash of light and a kawhoosh of displaced atmosphere molecules heralded the completion of the transmat link between the _Galactica_ and the Klingon flagship. Unlike the Federation transmat event horizon, which was completely transparent to visible light photons, the Klingon transmat was totally opaque, its surface a boiling volume of red-yellow light, reminiscent of a sunset on a planet with a very dusty atmosphere in orbit around a red giant.

Almost immediately, two Klingon warriors stepped through, they are armed with disrupter rifles and took up position off to the right and left sides of the transmat wormhole, facing each other. One of the Klingon's barks something in battlespeak into a communicator and two more warriors, armed with what Wesley recognized as pain sticks, come through the transmat, next was a short man in a large cloak.

"_Baltar_," Boxey shivered.

"That's him?" Wesley whispered.

"Yeah, the most hated man in this century."

"Kinda like Khan Noonian Singh," Wesley muttered.

"Who?" Boxey asked.

"Another traitor, except from ancient earth. He started a war, called the Eugenics War, that killed almost a billion people."

The entire Klingon guard contingent was through the transmat now. Baltar's four Klingon guards and the two advance guards ringed him and poked at him with their pain sticks. Baltar looked a little worse for ware. It seemed that the Klingons had ruthlessly interrogated him before calling Adama. Last through the transmat portal was Commodore Kevar himself.

"Where is Adama," Kevar roared.

"Right here, Commodore," Adama had just entered the alcove, flanked by Col. Tigh and Athena. The Colonial marines snapped to attention.

Commander Adama," Kevar begins, "In the name of the Emperor Kahless, I present to you your enemy, Baltar." Two of the Klingons give the one-time Cylon Chief Executioner a rough shove which sent him to his knees in front of Orion.

"Baltar," Orion snarled. "My wife and children send their greetings from beyond the grave, traitor."

"Sergeant Major, arrest Councilman Baltar and conduct him to the brig," Adama says in a low dangerous voice. "Commodore Kevar, the Colonial Republics are in your debt for this act of justice."

Kevar nods and issues a terse command to his troops. The Klingon soldiers snaped to attention and marched back through the transmat portal. Kevar turned to Adama just before stepping through the portal. "_Kaplaugh_, Adama of the Council of Twelve."

The Colonial marines have snatched Baltar to his feet, put him in leg irons and handcuffs. One of the marines gave the traitor a "dope-slap", for which no one admonishes him. "Guyius Baltar," Sgt. Major Orion intoneed an ancient ritualistic phrase, "I arrest you for the crimes of genocide and high treason." And with that Baltar was hustled away at a marine doubletime. Within a very few minutes, the transmat portal to the Klingon ship had collapsed to be replaced by the wormhole to _Enterprise_. The alcove emptied out, and is again very still.

"Well, I guess I'd better get back to _Enterprise_," Wesley said. "My mom will be wondering where I am."

"Yeah," Boxey says. "I gotta get home too, Grandpa will be wanting a report on the visit exchanges soon. See you at 2100?"

"You bet!

* * *

**To Be Continued**. 


End file.
